Reviving Romance
by DandelionSunset
Summary: Valentine's Day is around the corner and no one hates it more than Katniss Everdeen. She keeps receiving messages from a supposed secret admirer, who she's positive is a nonexistent, horrible practical joke. Worse yet, she finds herself falling for her archery student and fellow classmate, Peeta Mellark, who is shy, sweet, sensitive, sexy... and assumably gay.
1. Valentine's Grinch

Disclaimer: All characters used within this story, along with several plot elements, are from The Hunger Games series, which is owned by Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing them for a while, and am making no monetary gain. :)

* * *

_Okay, so as some of you noticed, I deleted this story from the site a while back. I was experiencing some horrible writer's block, and felt bad that it was taking me months to write new chapters. However, I haven't been able to stop thinking about this story… so I'm posting it again and continuing where I left off. I've made some changes. Not extravagant changes, but changes all the same. As always, thanks for reading!_

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**_Chapter One_**

**Valentine's Grinch**

I narrow my eyes at the multiple huge, frilly pink and red hearts that hang from the bakery ceiling. In all the years that I've been coming here, I've never seen the place quite _this_ overdone for a holiday.

"Well, it looks like it's that time of year again. Time for lovey-dovey coupling crap while the rest of us resist the urge to vomit all over the cutesy decorations."

I stick my tongue out and pretend to gag.

"Why do you hate Valentine's Day so much?" Gale asks in amusement as he bites into a Cupid-shaped cookie covered in red sprinkles. "You never really pay any mind to other holiday decorations."

"Because Cupid taints the image of a bow and arrow," I reply matter-of-factly. "When I shoot something in the heart, it isn't cute, sweet, and fluffy. It's messy, bloody, and _gory_—"

"Katniss—"

"I'm just saying. It's unrealistic."

"It's not meantto be realistic," Gale explains as if I'm a clueless child. "It's symbolic. Like the Easter Bunny hiding eggs or Santa Claus riding around the world in one night, guided by reindeers."

I know that, of course, but it still annoys me. I continue to rant, feeling even more fueled by his rationalization.

"Well, at least those holidays are inclusive. Valentine's Day is only a holiday for little kids to celebrate without knowing the real meaning of it—don't even get me _started_ on that—and for people who are with someone. To the rest of the world, it's merely Singles Awareness Day."

"Sad."

I shrug. "That _is _the initials."

"You do this every year, Kat." Gale smiles as if he feels sorry for me and shakes his head.

"So?" I viciously chomp the head off of a Cupid cookie and narrow my eyes at him. "You used to feel the same exact way, if you remember. Until you got a girlfriend and became one of… _them_."

He arches an eyebrow. "_Them_?"

I nod. "Yes. _Them_. A sucker for soulless corporate sales. You're now just another Valentine's victim. You've changed."

He shrugs and lets out a small laugh. "Well, sometimes you have to be a sucker to get sucked—"

I abruptly hold up hand for him to stop talking, my eyes widening. I shake my head and give a dramatic shiver. "Please spare me the gritty details. I adore you both, but not enough to live with that mental image."

He laughs again, winks, and continues to chew his cookie rather loudly.

"What's the deal with all the pink and red hearts everywhere, anyway?" I rant on, taking a pink paper heart that reads "Be Mine" from the napkin holder and cheerfully tearing it in half; it makes me feel slightly better. "If anything, there should be penises hanging from the ceiling. That's what this holiday is all about anyway… girls getting fluffy stuffed crap and guys getting laid."

"Hey, it's _also_ about chocolates, candy hearts, and cards."

"And condom sales."

"And roses. Don't forget roses."

"Which die and turn black."

"Like your soul, Katniss. Like your soul."

"Whatever. You _know_ I'm right. There's all this pretense of sweetness and romanticism, but we all know what it's really about: materialism and sex."

He nods in agreement and I finally feel a bit justified.

"Well, yeah. That's the payoff. We buy each other something cutesy and romantic, preferably with a heart on it somewhere, and then we fuck," he replies matter-of-factly. I raise an eyebrow at him and cringe. "Or I _don't_ and the only pink thing I'll be seeing for a while is the palm of my hand. I'm not taking that risk."

"That's beautiful, Gale. So very romantic." I snort and clear my throat dramatically. With a dramatic flair, I mimic his voice and recite, "Roses are red, violets are blue. Here's some heart-shaped candy, Madge. Now show me your vag and let's screw."

"That's actually pretty good," he says, appearing both impressed and amused. "Mind if I use that?"

He seems totally serious, too. Only Gale would think that would be an appropriate thing to tell his girlfriend on Valentine's Day. Knowing Madge, though, she'll probably love every word of it. They're both at that stage in their relationship where neither of them can do or say anything wrong. They look at each other with stars in their eyes, and they're constantly going at it like bunny rabbits.

"Have at it," I answer with a flip of my wrist. "Anyway, everything about the day is expected. There's no mystery, and there's nothing random or sweet about it. It really isn't romantic at all. The only thing Cupid is shooting an arrow at is your wallet and your dignity."

I sigh loudly and continue to rip the paper heart into little shreds.

"Lighten up and look at the bright side: while all of us couples are sleeping in the next morning, you singles can hit up all the half-off sales on candy. Win/win."

"Yay. Three cheers for wasting my money on diabetes and obesity," I deadpan.

"You're such a Valentine's Grinch, Katniss."

"Bah, Humbug."

"That's _A Christmas Carol_."

"Same sentiment."

"I wish Cupid would shoot you in the heart," Gale says, smirking, "In Grinchy tradition, it might just grow three times bigger—"

"That seems really painful. You also make it sound like my heart is a penis, and Cupid soaks his arrows in Viagra."

"Well, if you ask me, your micro-penis heart is in desperate need of a good dose of Valentine's Viagra."

"If my heart was a penis, it'd be very well-endowed, thank you very much," I retort. "And just because I think Valentine's Day is meaningless corporate nonsense— which it _totally_ is—doesn't mean that I don't believe in love and romance. I just think it's dead, or walking around like a brain-dead zombie somewhere, or hiding out like Santa and the Easter Bunny; but instead of gifts and eggs, you get screaming, pooping babies and STDs. I mean, I don't think it's a coincidence that the initials for Valentine's Day is VD—"

"Your heart may not be a penis, Katniss, but it _needs_ a penis," Gale teases, arching an eyebrow at me. "And badly, I might add."

I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at him. My heart doesn't _need_ anything, especially not a fleshy male appendage. There isn't anything a man can do that I can't do for myself, and _better_, anyway.

"I resent that," I flippantly reply, "for all you know, my heart is a lesbian."

"That would answer a lot of questions, actually." He casually bites into a cookie, looking contemplative and serious, then shrugs as if I'd just made a confession instead of a joke.

"Ha ha _ha_!" I sarcastically snap and toss a broken cookie at him. "Shut up!"'

His smile abruptly turns into a frown and his eyes turn serious.

"Seriously, though. You should try going on a date or two. Maybe you'll find a guy who'll _actually_—"

"Put up with me?"

Gale shakes his head and continues in a surprisingly concerned and caring tone, "I was going to say 'make you happy,' but yeah, that too I guess."

I know he means well, but his kind words only agitate me further. I've_ tried_ the dating thing. It never works out for me. They're either complete idiots or total jerks; or they're genuinely nice but never call me back, and I'm stuck wondering what exactly I'd done wrong. Besides, for the most part, guys tend to think going on a date means that they have an open invitation for sex, and I'm more of an RSVP type of girl. I might talk openly about certain things, but I've never actually _done _them.

I'd love nothing more than to find true romance, but I'm well aware that it doesn't exist anymore. So I hate it, and holidays like Valentine's Day, which remind me of that fact in all its gaudy and hokey glory.

"I doubt it." I shrug in resignation. "Some people are just meant to be alone and die with fifty cats."

"You hate cats."

"I do, but misery loves company. Besides, I'll need _someone_ to dispose of my body when I die. And cats like to eat their owner's body after they—"

Before I can finish my sentence, Gale has his hand over my mouth. He looks at me in disgust and shakes his head. I smirk when he lets his palm down again, feeling triumphant to have gotten a rise out of him.

"Well," he places a half-eaten cookie down on a tray, as if my cat statement made him lose his appetite, and stands up from the booth, "I think I'm done eating. Besides, it's about time to go."

"Oh, don't be such a wuss, Gale." I laugh and grab the two remaining Cupid cookies from the tray before he takes it to the trash can. "Love has made you weak. Madge has you totally whipped, and I mean that in the friendliest way possible. "

"Whipped, spanked, whatever you want to call it, I hope you experience the same kind of weakness someday."

"Well, there isn't exactly a line of guys interested," I point out, feeling slightly defensive. "In fact, there isn't even _one_. And I'm sure as hell not going to go chasing, either. I'm fine alone. I'm happy this way."

I defiantly jut my chin, cross my arms, and bite the head off of another Cupid cookie.

"With the amount of hatred you have for a holiday about love, you don't _seem_ all too happy, Kat," Gale states. "There are plenty of guys who'd date you, you know. You're not ugly. It's just this sort of attitude of yours that veers them away from taking a chance. They're afraid you'll bite their head off, just like that Cupid cookie."

"Well, this _attitude _of mine is called my _personality_, so if they don't like it, they can _veer _their way to hell for all I care."

Gale gives an exasperated sigh that indicates he's starting to get annoyed with me.

_Good_. He's starting to annoy me, too.

"All I'm saying is that it wouldn't hurt for you to be _slightly_ more approachable—"

"I _am _approachable! It's not _my _fault if they don't have the balls to do or say anything," I counter, feeling agitated. "They're all the same, anyway. They just want someone easy, and even easier to toss aside when they're done having fun. I don't like playing games."

"Yeah, but that's the thing. You might lose, but you also might win. Regardless, you have to play the game in order to win the prize."

"So you have _one_ serious girlfriend, and now you're a love expert?" I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"Sometimes all it takes is one." He shrugs, and the frown is suddenly replaced with a small smile as he thinks of Madge. "Sometimes you just get lucky and the odds are in your favor. Actually, luck has nothing to do with it. If it wasn't for you, we would have never even talked to each other. So maybe the fates will pay you back for that. Give it a chance."

"I'm pretty sure that the odds are not in my favor. Anyway, I'm good with sitting on the sidelines and cheering others on."

"Really? Because right now it seems like you're doing an awful lot of booing."

"It's _not _booing," I indignantly reply as we approach the cash register. "You know I love you and Madge together, and I'm really happy for you both. I just hate the tackiness of this stupid holiday."

Before Gale can retort or say anything in reply, I turn to pay for the cookies.

"Hey, Peet. What's the damage today?" I ask brightly, reaching into my pocket for some money.

Peeta and I have shared a lot of classes together over the years, but he's never really said much to me aside from passive small talk. In fact, he usually avoids my eyes when I speak to him or look in his direction. I don't blame him, though. I guess my personality can be somewhat abrasive, especially in comparison with his reserved one.

I can't help but think that with his blond wavy hair and cheeks that are always tinted a shade of red, he could totally pass for an older Cupid. All he needs is a pair of wings and a bow. I doubt he knows any more about love than I do, though. In all the years I've known him, I've never seen him with any sort of girlfriend. Maybe it's due to his shyness or maybe his family is the religious type that doesn't allow dating.

Or maybe he's gay.

Actually, _that _would make _perfect _sense.

"$8.50," he answers quietly, his voice shaky. He clears his throat and manages to look me in the eye for a split second as he asks, "Everything all right?" His eyes quickly avert down to the cash register, and then to the money being exchanged. I notice that he won't look at my face again.

"Not really," I joke, and give a small laugh. "The new decorations make me nauseous. No offense."

"Ignore Miss_ Anti-Cupid _here—"Gale starts, sending me a dirty look as if I'm being rude. I wasn't _trying_ to be. Peeta asked, and I was being completely honest.

"Sorry," Peeta replies timidly, looking a little embarrassed. "It was all my dad's idea. I know it's a bit much. It drives up sales, though."

"See?" I suddenly snap my fingers and point at Gale, grinning widely at him in triumph. "I _told _you! It's all about money. Romance is dead. Valentine's Day is pointless." I turn back to Peeta and hold out a hand for him to shake. "Thanks for proving my point, Peeta."

He bites his bottom lip, shrugs, and looks taken aback, but reluctantly places his palm against mine. I tightly grasp his hand and give it a quick, vigorous shake. I can feel his hand start to tremble within mine, so I quickly release my grip and drop my hand onto the counter.

"Um… I wouldn't say _that_—" he counters in a tone that's barely audible. Still, it takes me by surprise. He's usually so agreeable; I thought I'd at least have an ally in _him_. I shake my head and sigh as if I've been betrayed.

"Well, I would. Money shouldn't buy love," I reply as I make my way towards the door.

Gale groans and makes a quick exit, but I turn back around. Peeta's face is redder than the paper hearts hanging from the ceiling, and his eyes are narrowed as if he's in deep thought. He doesn't seem mad or anything, but other than that, I can't really decipher his expression. He raises his eyebrows questioningly when he notices I've turned around. I simply wave, and tell him, "Happy sales, Peeta."

* * *

It's the first day of February and it's as if the whole world has turned into the Barbie version of Noah's Ark. Everything is pink and in twos. Couples are invading everywhere, and it seems like hearts have replaced brains. Time for swapping spit, holding hands, and spreading germs. Love is in the air and so is Mono.

I'm currently sitting in English class while the teacher drones on about the romantic aspects of Romeo and Juliet. I personally find it sort of hilarious and ironic that when people think of ultimate love and sacrifice, this story automatically comes to mind. It's literally about two kids, yes – _kids_, because Juliet is only thirteen years old, who meet each other exactly _one time,_ and think, 'Holy hell, what a hottie! I gotta get me a piece of _that_!' Because let's face it, they didn't really _know_ each other.

Love at first sight? Yeah, right. More like _lust_ at first sight.

In fact, Romeo was pissed and heartbroken that very morning because some girl named Rosaline rejected him. Later that evening he goes to stalk Rosaline at a party and presumably be an ass to her, but instead he sees Juliet for the first time ever, and the Rosaline chick gets immediately forgotten. He makes a speedy, miraculous rebound and evidently "falls in love" upon speaking to thirteen-year-old Juliet and making out with her only once.

Which only goes to prove that even in the 1500's, teen boys still confused their penis with their heart, and teen girls still thought with their heart instead of their brain. Anyways, afterwards, in all his stalking, perv-like glory, Romeo spies on her from some bushes while she's pining on a balcony. And, after some poetic, angsty teen melodrama on said balcony, they decide to marry the very next morning.

Basically, they pull the teen rebellion card with their parents on a grand scale. Instead of doing the modern-age thing such as sneaking out of a window at night or making out in the backseat of a school bus, they decide to secretly _marry_ each other so they can legally and morally get it on. Yes, less than twenty-four hours after initially meeting, they marry and screw. And then they wind up killing themselves in horrible ways afterwards because they simply can't live without each other. This all takes place within the span of about three days.

Yes–young, naïve, weak Juliet–a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet… _until it dies_. Then what do you do? Apparently, you just kill yourself with a freaking dagger.

Tragic romance? I find it to be a comedic cautionary tale, myself: Don't have sex, kids! You will bring shame to your family name. And you will _die!_ Also, your cousin and your best friend might also indirectly die as a result of it.

There's a sudden knock on the classroom door and all eyes greedily focus on the Candy Gram Guy. This happens every year, starting two weeks before Valentine's Day. After all, the school _also_ has to find a way to capitalize on the holiday, and so they sell these silly heart-shaped pieces of construction paper—sometimes bearing anonymous messages—with lollipops attached.

As a breakdown of the recipients, you have the obvious boyfriends and girlfriends that send each other cutesy messages, the best friends who send inside jokes to make each other feel better about being single, and then the obviously single people who send the Candy Grams to themselves because they don't want to seem like a loser… or they just _really _want a lollipop.

The Candy Gram Guy starts to call out names. I sigh and roll my eyes as people around me start to act surprised when they receive one. I find myself really wanting to get back to the romantic tale of underage sex and suicide.

"Katniss Everdeen."

I glance up with wide eyes, unsure if I'd heard correctly.

The guy looks slightly impatient. "Katniss Everdeen?"

Who the hell would send _me_ a Candy Gram?

The room goes quiet. Everyone stares at me as I stand up and go to the front of the room. My fellow classmates seem to be as surprised as I am. I'm not exactly known as someone who'd ever receive anything Valentine's Day related. I hear a few whispers and a silent giggle or two. I give them all dirty looks and grudgingly retrieve the obvious practical joke before quickly sitting back down again.

I bet it was Gale.

In fact, I _know_ it was Gale. Who else would send me something like this?

I'm going to kill him.

I'm about to tear the card up into little pieces, but I decide to flip it over first and read the message on the back. I figured it'd be some sort of "gotcha!" message.

I narrow my eyes in confusion, however, as I read:

_Today is the first that I take a chance,_

_With an open heart and a longing glance,_

_For the next two weeks, I'll make a stance,_

_For you, I will revive romance._

I shake my head and roll my eyes. How the hell did Gale come up with this? He doesn't have a poetic bone in his body! He liked and asked to use my poem about Madge's vagina, for crying out loud! Did they work on this together? Do they think it'll be a fun little thing to bond them as a couple – to prank Katniss with cheesy Valentine's messages? I can just _imagine_ them cackling conspiratorially as they wrote this.

I think I'll keep this card after all. Just for giggles.

As class continues, I glance around the room and see a few people looking at me with confusion and curiosity. Peeta catches my eye and smiles as if to congratulate me. I keep my face passive and suck on my lollipop. He simply shrugs and turns back around to focus on the class discussion.

I frown as I stare at the back of his head. I suddenly feel sort of bad for him. It must be tough being gay in a gossipy small town, especially on Valentine's Day. I'm pretty _sure_ that he is, anyway. It really just makes sense. I mean, he's athletic, handsome, sensitive, artistic, he bakes, and he's never had a girlfriend before. Maybe I'll send him a Candy Gram tomorrow, just because.

I quickly push the Candy Gram message to the back of my mind and go on with my day. Gale will definitely hear an earful about this later.

* * *

At lunchtime, however, I'm met with another seemingly cheesy Valentine's Day practical joke. Someone has taped a freaking_ rose _to my locker!

Before anyone else can see the bright red monstrosity, I rip it off and shove it inside my backpack.

I forcefully open my locker to put my books away, feeling annoyed and perturbed to be the butt-end of such a childish and stupid prank. I quickly look around, expecting to see Gale peek from around the corner or saunter up with a laugh. He doesn't, though. It doesn't make any sense to me. The Gale I know would definitely want to see my reaction, especially if he spent any money on it. Otherwise, what's the point? Then again, perhaps making me paranoid until the oh-so-hilarious "reveal" might just be a part of the prank.

When I enter the cafeteria, I spot Gale and Madge sitting at a table. I quickly march over and sit down across from them with haste, raising my eyebrows accusingly.

"What's up your ass today, Kat?" Gale asks with a snort. Madge looks concerned, but also a little amused. I narrow my eyes at both of them and purse my lips.

"Oh, I think you _know_!"

They glance at each other in confusion and then back to me.

"No, not really," Gale replies slowly. "Well, besides the _usual_…."

Madge elbows him and shakes her head.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" she asks softly.

I open my backpack, retrieve the Candy Gram and the rose, and scoot it across the table towards Gale. "_This_!" I answer. "This is what's wrong! Nice joke, _Gale_. Ha ha. Very funny. Absolutely side-splittingly hilarious. You can stop now, okay?"

He frowns and seems taken aback, then picks up the card. Before reading it, he assures me, "I definitely didn't send you this. I didn't even send _Madge _one—"

"Boyfriend of the year, right here," she deadpans. "Anyway, Gale didn't buy you a rose, Katniss. I know this because he's never even bought _me_ a rose. He's way too cheap."

"Exactly!" Gale cheerfully agrees. He places an arm around Madge's shoulder and kisses her cheek. "I'm rich in other ways, though."

She rolls her eyes and shrugs off his arm, but can't seem to help the small smile that curves her lips. "Yeah, yeah. You're rich, all right."

I shake my head and sigh loudly. I'm still not sure I believe them. "Well, if _you _didn't send it, then who did?"

Gale looks down at the Candy Gram and begins to read it. His eyes slowly light up in amusement as he does, and then he starts to laugh.

"Oh my _God_! You actually thought I'd write this crap?" He snorts loudly and quickly hands the note to Madge, who starts to read it as soon as it touches her hand. "I would _never_. Not even as a joke!"

"Awww! This is so sweet!" She smiles widely and looks up at me, ignoring Gale's laughter from beside her. She arches an eyebrow and finally turns to him. "It wouldn't hurt you to do things like this for me, you know."

Gale snorts and shakes his head. "Yeah right. No self-respecting man would write that!"

"That's why I thought _you_ did it," I retort, smirking.

Gale is just about to undoubtedly insult me back when Madge giddily intervenes, "I think you might just have a secret admirer, Katniss. How romantic!"

Gale and I both start to laugh at this. I stop abruptly and give him an icy glare.

"What do you find funny about that, Gale?"

He shrugs, looking completely amused. "Everything."

I want to argue, but he's right. Instead, I sigh and hastily grab the rose and the note before stuffing them disdainfully back into my backpack.

"So if it's not you, someone else is definitely having a laugh."

I glance suspiciously around me. It could be _anyone_. I decide to send warning glares in every direction, just in case the person is watching me.

"Looks that way, Catnip," Gale agrees with a shrug.

Madge shakes her head in disagreement. "Well, I think it's nice and sweet. Someone obviously _really_ likes you—"

"No," I interrupt, feeling annoyed and a little embarrassed. "Gale's right. Who would like me? Seriously. This is definitely a stupid prank, and they better not let me find out who they are."

But I _am_ going to do my best to find out exactly who's behind this.

And when I do, it will be war_._


	2. Shooting Straight

**Shooting Straight**

I find the Candy Gram vendor before last hour and buy three—one each for Gale, Madge, and Peeta.

For Gale, I pick one with a watermelon lollipop because I know he hates that particular flavor with a passion. On his Candy Gram, I write: _Asshole. I still think it was you. Suck it._

On Madge's, I simply say: _Thought I'd send you a Candy Gram since your boyfriend is a cheap asshole._

When I get to Peeta's, I hesitate before writing anything. We've been in the same classes for years, but we don't know each other well enough to sign my name or give any indication it's from me. I don't want to freak him out, or worse—give him the impression that I like him in a more than friendly way. I'm pretty sure he prefers Twinkies over doughnuts, and it would be extremely awkward for both of us if he had to 'let me down gently'.

Finally, I just scribble some generalized, hokey message: _Hey you. You're great. Just thought you should know. Keep being yourself._

I cringe as soon as I hand the note over. 'Keep being yourself' - Of course he'll keep being himself. What _else_ is he gonna be, a damn penguin? Ugh.

I really don't even know _why_ I'm sending these stupid Candy Grams. I feel like I'm being a hypocrite by contributing money to this inane, capitalistic holiday. But I also know how isolated and lonely Peeta must feel, so I guess it's worth it. Besides, we're probably the only two people in this school who will be alone on Valentine's Day. For completely different reasons, but still. We should stick together, even if it's a secret on my part. He's a nice guy and he always smiles at me; which is surprising since almost every other guy tends to avoid making eye contact with me anymore. You give one asshole a black eye for getting grabby with your ass, and suddenly you're blacklisted as girlfriend material. Oh well.

Anyways, it just seems as if Peeta could use some encouragement right now.

I mean, I know it's probably not the _exact_ sort of lollipop he'd prefer to be sucking on, but it's the thought that counts, right?

* * *

After school, Gale drops me off for work. He works at the same place I do, but on different days and separate shifts. I think our boss believes we might shoot each other at some point, and he doesn't want to have to clean up the bloody mess. It's probably a very good call on his part.

My job consists of teaching archery lessons to children. Some days I love it, some days I hate it. It generally depends on the kid I'm teaching and their level on the Brat-o-Meter. Level One being 'This kid is perfect and adorable, and makes me want to possibly pop a kid out someday'—which, mind you, is as rare as spotting a leprechaun riding a unicorn in outer space— and Level Ten being 'I hate this kid so much I want to shove an arrow up my vagina until my ovaries puncture and it'll never be a possibility to give birth to a sack of flesh so horrible.'

Anyway, it was by complete accident that I even got into archery to begin with.

When I was twelve, my dad died in a car crash… and so did the woman he was apparently having an affair with. Up until that point, I was under the fairytale assumption that my family was perfect and my parents loved each other dearly. Maybe they _did_. Maybe my dad just couldn't keep his pecker in his pants. I don't know. I was a kid; I never really got all the details. I suppose I never will. I _do_ know my mom was in a shocked stupor for days. She didn't seem to know how to handle the sudden grief of her husband dying, along with the horrible realization that he had been screwing around. Or how to deal with the fact that _everyone_ in town found out about it due to the many media reports.

Ultimately, her fight-or-flight response kicked in over it all. And flight won. _Literally._ Without so much as a goodbye to me or my little sister, Prim, she boarded a plane and flew to a whole different state.

She'd simply told us she was going to the grocery store, though. And, as grief-stricken as I was over the death of my father, all I could think about was how painfully long it was taking her to get back with my Fruit Roll-Ups. After a week of being left on our own and wondering when, or if, Mom was ever going to return, our Uncle Haymitch luckily stopped by to see how things were holding up.

Long story short, he took us in when he realized our mom had abandoned us. He got full custody without any fight from our mom whatsoever, and we've been living with him ever since.

He's never had any children of his own and he's never been married. He's a retired war veteran, and a functional alcoholic with a slightly abrasive personality. He's a decent guy beneath the hard exterior, though. His heart is in the right place and I know he'd do anything for me and Prim if it came down to it. He's been more of a parent to us than our own parents ever have been.

As for Mom, she calls every once in a while on special occasions like our birthdays and Christmas, but I usually refuse to speak to her. I'm not going to indulge the easing of her guilty conscience. I'd_ like_ to forgive her, but she still hasn't seen us since she left, so obviously it's not something she'd like to take back or make amends for. If she _wanted_ to be part of our lives, and if she really loved us, she'd be here_._ But apparently we were just discardable accessories to her.

It's totally her loss, though, because Prim is kind, beautiful, and gifted in every way.

After a few months of living with Uncle Haymitch, he decided to sign us up for dance classes. He didn't really give us an explanation as to why, but I think he was trying to make an effort to at least bring some distraction and normalcy to our life. Or he just wanted to get rid of us a few times a week; which, if I'm being _completely_ honest, is way more likely. He's never been much of a kid person.

Prim excelled at dancing and even became head of her class. I, however, basically have the balance of a Weeble Wobble. I really don't have a graceful bone in my body, and that fact was very apparent to the dance instructor as well. After weeks of frustration on her part, complete disinterest on mine, and after I broke a fellow student's nose on accident with my horrible dance moves, I was finally, and thankfully, dropped from the class.

Uncle Haymitch, determined to keep me in some sort of extra-curricular activity, eventually signed me up for archery lessons. He was a little hesitant about it at first, not believing it'd be a good idea to mix my rage and rebellion with a weapon, but he relented as soon as he realized that it was the only class with spots still available.

As it turned out, I was a natural when it came to shooting a bow. My instructor was pretty impressed that I could hit the center of a target after only a couple lessons. This is also probably one of the _many_ reasons why I don't get asked out. No guy wants a girlfriend whose best talent is shooting a target with a sharp object from a distance, with precision. I guess it's a bit intimidating. Or, as one jerk told me before, 'really fucking creepy'.

The first part of the afternoon goes by quite normally until I'm called into the office by my manager, Mr. Snow. He's the typical asshole boss—a Know-It-All who doesn't really know shit. I fully admit that I've fantasized about shooting him with my bow quite often.

I immediately notice that there's a guy standing at the far end of the office, staring intently at a painting on the wall. He has blond, curly hair and broad shoulders, and his jeans hug certain parts of him perfectly….

I jump as Mr. Snow snaps his fingers in front of my face. He shakes his head disapprovingly at me, and my face heats up at knowing I was just caught staring at a customer's ass. Luckily he's still turned around, though, and didn't witness the exchange.

"Everdeen, for reasons I don't come close to understanding, this gentleman has specifically requested _you_ for lessons. I expect you to treat him as you would any of your other pupils, and not to be your usual smartass self." He leans in by my ear and whispers harshly, "He paid extra, too, so you better treat him like a _king_. You hear me?"

I narrow my eyes and purse my lips in indignation, but I reluctantly nod. I'll treat him normally, but I won't be treating _anyone_ like a king. I don't care how much he paid.

I glance over at the guy again, my mind suddenly reeling.

He specifically requested _me_…?

_What_?

"Mr. Mellark," Mr. Snow suddenly calls out, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "She's all yours."

_Oh my God._

He turns around quickly with a shy half-smile, and my cheeks redden further as I realize I was just admiring _Peeta Mellark's_ ass. Well, that's embarrassing. He'll definitely make some lucky guy extremely happy one day, though. No doubt about that at all.

He walks over, stops in front of me, and shrugs. "Um. Hi, Katniss. I hope you don't think it's weird that I requested you—"

"Well, it's a _little _weird," I answer honestly only to hear Mr. Snow clear his throat in warning. I roll my eyes and explain, "Just because I didn't even know you knew I worked here."

"Everyone knows you work here."

I guess that's true. Everyone does seem to know I teach archery, and this is basically the only place where you can learn it in town.

"But why did you request _me_, of all people?" I ask in confusion. "I mean, Gale works here too—"

"Gale isn't you, though," Peeta replies quietly, then shakes his head and rubs his eyes as if he'd said something wrong. "I mean… I just hear that, you know, you're kind of the best at this stuff. And if I want to learn right, I better learn from the master."

"_Master_?" I repeat, raising my eyebrows in amusement. "Okay. Well, let me go get my whips and chains then." His eyes widen and his mouth drops open, but he quickly closes it. I snort at his shocked expression and shake my head. "I'm only kidding, Peeta."

He nods, but remains silent, as if in deep thought about something.

"Anyways, you're gonna need protection," I say distractedly, walking over to the supplies closet. Peeta follows me in without a word and watches as I rummage through a drawer full of arm bracers, trying to find one that will be big enough to fit his muscled forearm. I finally pick one that looks large enough and turn to him; I notice that his face is flushed and he looks very confused.

"These are so the string doesn't skin you up," I explain.

His eyes widen in acknowledgement and he nods. I abruptly take his arm in my hands, feeling it tremble in my grasp, and place the bracer around his forearm. I sigh loudly and shake my head when I realize that it doesn't fit.

"Damn it."

"What's wrong?"

"You're too big. It won't fit," I answer, rolling my eyes. I take the bracer and shove it back into the drawer, and continue to search for one that _will_ fit. "We usually only teach kids, and you're definitely _not_ a kid."

"I'm seventeen and a half. The website said you had to be under eighteen, so _technically_—"

"I know, I know," I interrupt, waving a hand at him. "But usually when we get the older ones, someone else takes care of it. Or they're not as big as you. I normally work with people who are a lot smaller."

"I'm sorry if my size intimidates you?"

I roll my eyes and chuckle. "Peeta, size and all, you're about as intimidating as a cupcake."

"Hey, we make some pretty scary looking cupcakes at the bakery during Halloween," he jokes, biting his lip to keep from grinning.

"Oh, I bet they're absolutely _nightmare_ inducing," I agree playfully. "Although, I'm sure they're not _half _as nightmare inducing as the decorations you all have for Valentine's." I turn back to the drawer to continue my search, and hear him sigh from behind me. He doesn't say anything, though.

I finally find one I think will fit, and quickly wrap it around his forearm to see.

"Maybe…"

Nope. Of _course_ not.

I toss it back into the drawer in frustration and continue to look.

"I…uh," Peeta rubs the back of his neck as if he's uncomfortable. "I guess I don't really _need _protection. I'm willing to risk the consequences if you—"

"I'm _not_," I cut him off. "I don't need or want any accidents."

I pick out a hot pink bracer and turn to him with an apologetic look. He raises an eyebrow and cringes, then closes his eyes in acceptance and reluctantly holds his arm out for me.

"It fits!"

"It _would_," he remarks grudgingly, staring disdainfully down at his Barbie pink bracer.

"Oh, don't be like that! You look absolutely _fabulous_," I tease with a wink. "Now let's get you out of the closet and into some action."

I instantly regret my choice of words, but luckily he doesn't seem to notice what I'd said. Either that or he didn't feel the need to comment on it.

God, I'm such an idiot sometimes.

* * *

"So why exactly are you wanting to learn archery?" I ask as we make our way out to the target field. "I mean, not that I don't _fully_ approve of your awesome decision. I'm just curious."

"Um…" He seems contemplative for a moment before finally answering, "I'm going on a hunting trip this summer."

"Ah, so you want to impress the guys?" I wink.

"Yeah. Something like that. I don't want to look clueless," he replies and then releases a deep breath. "There's… there's also someone who I've kind of liked for a long time and they're really great at all this. I thought maybe if I showed an interestin their interest…" He shrugs and chews on his bottom lip.

"Then they might become interested in you?"

"It's stupid, I know," he says. "I don't think the person even has a clue."

"You don't know that for sure. They _might_ even like you back and they're just too scared to say anything. It's a big step to take, to admit you like someone. It's pretty admirable, though."

"You think so?"

"Yeah," I answer with a nod. "I do."

He stops for a moment and studies my face a bit intensely, as if letting my words sink in. I feel slightly uncomfortable as he does so. Peeta might be gay, but he's definitely good looking and I'm most certainly not blind.

"Anyway," I abruptly turn away from him and keep walking towards the target field. "Showing an interest in something they enjoy is a great way to get them to notice you, if they haven't already. And I promise by the time I'm through with you, you'll be hitting bullseyes left and right."

"I hope."

When we finally reach our destination on the target field, I turn to him again.

"Watch me a few times," I instruct. "Just observe and then later try to mimic what I'm showing you." I proceed to shoot a few arrows, explaining every step along the way, and then eventually turn back to him with my eyebrows raised. "Ready to give it a try?"

"But I was really enjoying observing _you_," he answers with a such a genuine smile it makes my stomach flutter. What is _wrong_ with me? I guess I should've eaten lunch today instead of giving people dirty looks.

I take a deep breath and return his smile. "_I'm_ not the one who paid for lessons, though. You have to start sometime. I find that people learn better with hands-on experience."

I place the bow in his hands and the quiver of arrows around his shoulder. He seems more than a little awkward, but that's pretty normal. No one ever really feels comfortable starting out.

"Nock your arrow," I say, placing my hand steadily on top of his to guide. He shakes nervously beneath my touch as he follows my directions and releases a raspy breath. "Good. Now pull it back to your shoulder and just hold it there for a moment. Steady your shaft and try to get used to the feel of it in your hand. Try not to prematurely eject."

"I won't," he assures quickly, "I have pretty good control."

I nod as I place one hand on his chest and the other on his back. "Now stand erect and confident. It's very important when it comes to shooting straight."

"Erect and confident," he repeats, furrowing his brow. "Should be easy enough."

"Spread your legs wide for me," I say as I gently nudge my feet against his to space them farther apart. He stifles a snort of laughter all of a sudden and I raise an eyebrow at him. "What?"

He shrugs before finally answering with a playful smirk, "Nothing. Just… shouldn't you at _least_ buy me dinner first?"

I look at him in confusion for a moment, and then start to laugh as it occurs to me what I'd said. "Wow. Was that actually a _joke_, Mellark?"

"A feeble attempt at one, but yeah." His face is the exact shade of a tomato, but he looks rather pleased with himself.

I squeeze his arm in a friendly way and grin up at him, suddenly feeling very warm all over despite the chill in the air.

"Look, I'll make you a deal. If you hit the center of the target by the end of your lessons, and inevitably win that person's heart with your bow skills, dinner will be completely on me, okay? And I'm not talking about McDonald's, either. I'll buy you and your date something fancy."

"Is that a promise?" he asks, avoiding my eyes.

"It's a promise."


	3. Incentive

_Chapter Three_

**Incentive**

When Peeta shoots his first arrow, it misses the target board by a good ten feet and lands way out in the field. Still, it's far from the worst I've seen. In fact, I'm actually kind of impressed that he released the arrow correctly and with such power. He bites his bottom lip, however, wincing and shaking his head as if embarrassed by his lack of skill.

"Well, this is just _tragic_, Peeta," I remark with a dramatic sigh. "You didn't hit the target on your _very first try_! What am I going to do with you?"

He glances sideways at me with a timid, apologetic smile and shrugs. "Whatever you want to, I guess. I'm kind of at your mercy here."

"Whatever I want, huh?" I step back and cross my arms over my chest, considering.

"Yeah. Anything," he answers, squinting at the target board as he adjusts the bow in his arms. His tongue darts out to lick his lips in concentration, and I find myself focusing in on them. I never quite noticed how plump and perfectly shaped they were before. Then again, I never really had a _reason_ to notice. The only reason I'm noticing _now_ is because they're equal height to my eyes.

"Okay then. Run ten laps around the field."

He cuts his eyes quickly at me and studies my face to see if I'm being serious or not. I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep a straight face as he knits his brows, gulps, and finally nods in acceptance. When he turns to place the bow down on the ground and heed my demand, I can't help the peal of laughter that escapes me.

"Oh my God_,_ Peeta, I'm not being _serious_! You weren't actually going to do it, were you?"

"Well, I said I'd do _anything_ for you," he replies. "I mean… whatever you think would help better my game, I'm for it. I really want to get good at this. I'm looking forward to that dinner you'll be buying us."

He then winks at me and smirks. If he wasn't gay, I'd swear that he's trying to flirt with me.

"_Us_?" I arch an eyebrow.

"Yeah." He turns away from me and brings the bow back up to shoot. "_Us._ Me and my date, right?"

"Right." I nod and clear my throat. I feel ridiculous for even entertaining the possibility that he'd meant me and him, so I quickly change the subject back to the lesson at hand. "Anyway, I didn't expect you to hit the bullseye on the very first try. No one ever does. It takes a lot of practice to even hit the target board. For what it's worth, though, your fingering was near perfect and so was your posture and ejection, so that's promising. I'm actually kind of impressed."

"Thanks. I'm flattered that you're impressed with my fingering."

I'm rendered speechless for a moment as I try to figure out whether he was actually only thanking me and parroting my own poor word choice, or if he _really_ just made a sexual joke at my expense.

He doesn't seem to notice my silence, however. He's too busy distracting himself with positioning the bow and arrow. Maybe he's embarrassed about what he'd just said and is avoiding looking at me? Or then again, maybe I just have a dirty mind and I'm reading far too much into things. Either way, I decide right then that I won't ask him about it. If I'm wrong, it'd be weird for both of us. And if I'm _right_, it'd be even weirder.

"Want me to shoot again?" he asks suddenly, and by the earnest, innocent expression he's wearing, I immediately feel ridiculous all over again. Of _course_ he wasn't making a sexual innuendo, he was simply being polite. It was my _own _stupid wording; I'm lucky he didn't laugh at me because of it.

"Sure, go ahead."

He shoots another arrow and this time it only goes a short distance, stopping right before the target board, and sticks tail-up in the ground. He closes his eyes and groans in frustration, but before he can say anything, I lift an arrow from the quiver and hand it to him, which he takes without a word and begins to nock.

"Try to get your dominant eye in line with the arrow and the target, then release," I instruct, placing my hand on his lower back and the other on his upper arm in order to help his aim.

Peeta sucks in a deep breath and his entire body goes rigid. As he begins to tremble beneath my palms, the arrow ejects prematurely and wobbles to the ground in front of him, and it occurs to me that perhaps he isn't comfortable being touched by a girl—hell, maybe not even by _anyone_. I know _I_ don't like it when people touch me, after all.

I quickly remove my hands from him, take a few steps back, and mutter an awkward, "Sorry for being so… um… _hands-on_ about teaching. I'm used to instructing little kids who have no upper body strength or sense of direction. It's just instinct. I'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable though."

"It's okay, trust me, I'm perfectly fine with you touching me," Peeta reassures quickly. "I actually enjoy your hands-on guidance. It helps me know if I'm doing things right." He scratches his head, a bashful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he lowers the bow. "You just… you kind of make me nervous. But not in a bad way."

"So I make you nervous in a _good_ way?" I ask with a small laugh. I act amused and casual about it, but I'm honestly curious. Peeta has always seemed a bit skittish around me, we've never really talked to each other, and it's still a mystery as to why he'd specifically ask for _me_, of all people, to give him archery lessons.

"You're just…" He licks his bottom lip and draws his eyebrows together as if contemplating what to say next. "You're just kind of… intimidating."

"Oh. Well, it wouldn't be the first time I've heard _that _before," I snap with a roll of my eyes.

Although I've been told the same thing numerous times by other people, it feels like I've been punched in the gut hearing it come from someone like Peeta. I know I'm a bit off-putting at times, but it doesn't mean I'm a completely horrible person who wants to make people feel bad. In fact, it's the opposite. I got tired of _other_ people making _me_ feel bad, so I stopped letting them. I stopped acting like I care because caring is the biggest weakness you can have, and it's the easiest way to get hurt.

"You didn't let me finish, though," Peeta says in a rush, and when he smiles reassuringly down at me, a weird feeling takes over in my stomach; it's as if it's twisting in knots and, at the same time, doing flips. I don't like it at all.

I take a deep breath to settle my acrobatic insides and focus my eyes on the target boards, trying my best to keep my face passive.

"Finish then. Make it quick, though. These lessons are timed, and this isn't supposed to be personal hour." I say this more as a reminder to myself. "And besides, I really don't _care _what people think of me. Not you, not anyone."

"If you don't care what I think, then why'd you ask?" Peeta gives me a pointed look, but it's more of a lighthearted one than judgmental. Either way, it only makes me feel more indignant.

"I was being rhetorical," I answer flippantly as I hastily pull another arrow from the quiver and hand it to him.

"Okay…" He shrugs as he takes the arrow out of my hand. "Want me to keep shooting then?"

I purse my lips and nod, but as he silently nocks an arrow and begins to pull it back, I find myself blurting, "If I intimidate you, how could that ever be a good thing?"

He shoots again and while the arrow soars much closer to the target board, it still flies past it and lands in the field. He shakes his head and releases a huff of disappointment before turning to me again. I raise my eyebrows in question and hand him another arrow.

"Maybe _intimidating _wasn't the right word to use…" The tips of his ears have turned red, though I'm not sure if it's because of the chill in the air or from being embarrassed. He keeps his eyes glued to the ground as he continues, "I just meant… you're very confident about who you are and what you think—and that's a great thing. But it also makes me a little worried that I'll look like a complete idiot in front of you. I don't know. I didn't mean it in a bad way at all, though."

"Are you serious?" I ask with a disbelieving snort. He shrugs and glances quickly at me with a wary smile."Peeta, I could never think of you as an idiot. And the only thing I'm truly confident about is my ability to skillfully penetrate things with an arrow." I place a hand on his upper arm and squeeze it reassuringly, "And soon _you'll_ be a pro at it too. Anyone can do it with a little bit of practice."

"Well, it's always been a dream of mine to be a pro at skillfully penetrating things," he says with a straight face, but I can clearly hear the amusement in his tone.

This time I know for a _fact_ that he has totally twisted my words into something sexual. I place a hand on my hip and narrow my eyes, assessing him. It's as if I'm seeing him for the first time. Perhaps I've misjudged him. Aside from the shy exterior, and beneath the polite persona, he's just as screwed up and dirty minded as the rest of us. He's just really good at hiding it.

I decide not to comment about it, though. I like that he's opening up enough to joke with me a little. I don't want to ruin it; it makes things a whole lot less awkward.

"I'm glad I have you to teach me," he adds.

"Oh, I will. Like I said, you'll be hitting bullseyes with your eyes closed by the time I'm through with you," I reassure with a knowing wink. I then lean in closer to him and say quietly, "And _eventually_ maybe you can skillfully penetrate whoever it is you're planning to take to dinner."

Peeta gapes at me, blinks, and for a moment he looks completely in disbelief of what I'd said to him. I wiggle my eyebrows and laugh, and his face immediately transforms from shocked to absolutely beaming.

"Maybe," he replies, and with his blue eyes twinkling with mirth, he sends me a bashful, yet mischievous grin. "It's certainly an incentive."

"We better get to practicing then."

He nods quickly, and without another word, turns and shoots an arrow with newfound determination.

* * *

Peeta doesn't hit the target board by the time his lesson is over, but he informs me that he has three more lessons, with his next one being on Thursday—and that he'll buy more if he hasn't hit anything by the end of them. I don't think more lessons will be necessary as I have no doubt that he'll be hitting the bullseye by the end of his third lesson. And regardless of whether he actually ever _does_ hit the bullseye, I've already decided that I'll pay for the dinner with his date anyway.

Maybe all this Valentine's Day crap is getting to me. Then again, maybe I just like happy endings for good people.

When Gale picks me up from work, the first thing he asks when I get into his car is, "Why are you all smiley? Did someone get skewered?"

"Ha ha. No," I reply monotonously and immediately try to rid the smile from my face. I honestly didn't even know it was there until it was brought to my attention. "I just had a fun time at work is all."

"Fun at _work_?" Gale stops the car and narrows his eyes suspiciously at me. He continues in a slow, serious tone, "Okay, where's Katniss? I'm warning you right now, I've watched every alien and clone movie there is and I _know_ how to get rid of you."

I want to tell Gale about Peeta, and how he'd asked specifically for me to give him lessons, but I know he'd just make it out to be something more than what it is. I don't know how good Gale's gaydar is and I don't want to out Peeta before he's ready—not that I think Gale would give him a hard time or anything, he would _never_ do that. But because it isn't _my _place to gossip about things that aren't any of my business. People can be assholes when it comes to things they don't understand or don't want to.

So instead, I just shrug and reply matter-of-factly, "You can't get rid of me. If you try, I'll take over your girlfriend's body and you'll never get laid again. Resistance is futile."

Gale releases the brake and starts to drive again. "Okay then. I'm on your side and I will do your bidding. Are you here to take over Earth, study it, or destroy it?"

"None of the above. I am here to destroy Valentine's Day."

"I'm sorry, my outer space ally," Gale laughs and shakes his head. "That's bigger than both of us."

* * *

As I walk in the front door, I'm greeted by the sight of Uncle Haymitch sleeping on the couch. He opens an eye and grumbles, "You have mail on the kitchen table."

I'm immediately curious as to who I could have mail from. I _never _get mail. Well, besides birthday cards from Mom, but that isn't until May—and that's mail I'd rather not even receive. I walk into the kitchen and find an open envelope with no return address on the table. It has a rose stamp and a red heart sticker on the front—which has been ripped in half in what, I'm assuming, was my Uncle Haymitch's haste to read what's inside.

Without even reading the contents, I walk back into the living room and confront him about it.

"You know opening mail that isn't addressed to you is a federal offense?"

He yawns and looks at me unapologetically. "It doesn't have a return address, and I had to make sure you weren't receiving death threats or blackmail. Nothing surprises me with you, sweetheart."

I hold the envelope up and point to the torn heart with an accusing look. "You ripped my heart in half, though!"

"What can I say? I've always been a bit of a heartbreaker," he answers with a straight face. "Anyway, looks like you got yourself a secret admirer?"

"No. I _don't_," I mutter, my face reddening. "Someone's playing a stupid joke on me."

"But from the looks of that _letter_…." A teasing grin spreads across his face, and I know he's going to pick on me about this Valentine's admirer thing if I don't divert attention from it.

"Shut up about it or I'll march right over to Effie's and tell her you want to be the father to her poodles!"

"For the _last _time, I don't like her like that. She's… _weird_."

"So what? You are too. Match made in heaven. Or hell. Either way, it's a perfect match."

Effie Trinket is our neighbor and has been for four years. She's as eccentric as they come, but so is Uncle Haymitch. She might be a bit strange, but she's nice and I think she'd be good for him. Especially since Effie goes out of her way to bring us "left-overs" all the time, except the left-overs are always freshly cooked or baked, and are definitely made with the intention of giving them to us. Or to Uncle Haymitch. I'm pretty sure she's taken the passage of 'a way to a man's heart is through his stomach' literally.

"She dresses her _dogs_."

"So? That doesn't mean she doesn't want to undress _you_," I counter and then make a face as I realize what I'd just implied, and so does Uncle Haymitch. I hold my hands up in surrender and shake my head with a look of disgust still on my face. "Ugh, okay. You win. I just gave myself mental scarring and nightmares for a month, at least."

"Good. Serves you right."

I stick my tongue out at him and make my way to the bathroom, where I take the letter out of the envelope and read it. My eyes narrow in suspicion as I read:

_By now you've received my Candy Gram and rose, and I'm sure you're probably a little confused._ _I assure you, all will be revealed by Valentine's Day._ _Until then I want you to see that romance is far from dead._

At the bottom, the sender has left an obscure email of Anon822, and to feel free to ask if I have any questions. Well, that seems oddly formal.

My first thought goes to Gale—he _must _be the one doing this. Then again, he doesn't even own a computer. And since when has he ever written with good grammar?

Or maybe it's Cato trying to get back at me for last year? I bruised his ego along with his eye and I can totally see him trying to humiliate me the way I did him.

I march down the hall to the bedroom I share with Prim, only to find the door locked. I groan and roll my eyes in annoyance, knocking hard and shaking my head at how often this has been happening lately.

"Hold on! I'm change—oof—I'm _changing_!" Prim's strained voice calls out from inside the room. I sigh loudly and knock again, knowing from the hurried movement and panicked whispers that my little sister is doing something a whole lot less innocent than changing—or _was_. And I'm pretty sure what she was doing didn't involve putting clothes _on, _either.

"It's only _me_, Prim," I reply through clenched teeth, trying to keep my temper even and my voice low so Uncle Haymitch doesn't hear. "Open up!"

A moment later I hear the lock turn. With messy blond hair and wearing only a pink robe, Prim opens the door for me to enter. As soon as I do, she shuts it quickly and locks it again.

"You two need to stop doing this all the time," I snap. "This is my room, too. I think I have a say about what goes on in it!"

"Oh, don't be such a cock block," Prim laughs, grinning and waving her hand at me. She calls over to her bed, "Babe, you can come out now. It's only Katniss."

"Yeah, you're lucky it's _only_ me. One of these days it's going to be Uncle Haymitch and your little boyfriend is going to be facing a cock _chop_ instead of a cock _block_," I mutter disapprovingly as I sit down on my bed. I watch as Rory, Gale's sixteen year old brother, scoots from beneath the pink frills of Prim's bed, clad in only boxers. I avert my eyes immediately as he stand and _other _things stand out.

"_Little _boyfriend? I don't think so," he remarks.

"For the love of… _put some pants on_!" I demand with my eyes hidden beneath my hands. "I don't want to see what you're poking my baby sister with."

I first learned that Prim was sexually active in probably the worst way possible. A year ago, when she was fifteen, she came to me in tears and confided that she might be pregnant. Needless to say, I was more than a little shocked. Prim is beautiful, talented, soft-spoken, friendly, and she's always made good grades. She's the epitome of a 'good girl', and while she'd had a few boyfriends by then, I naturally thought she'd never go past kissing and hand-holding.

Apparently I was wrong.

Of course I was concerned for her, so I went to buy a pregnancy test and a box of condoms for future prevention of having to buy another pregnancy test. A fellow classmate named Clove saw me buying them and spread a rumor around school that I sleep around and that I was pregnant. This obviously _wasn't _true, but it didn't stop guys from trying to 'date' me. And when they realized they weren't coming close to my zipper, they'd get all offended—as if just by reputation alone, I owed them something.

Prim luckily wasn't pregnant, which was a huge relief. I think Uncle Haymitch would have had a heart attack if she had been. Prim has always been his 'little princess', and he's still under the impression that she has tea parties and plays with dolls. If he knew that she and the neighbor boy have been sneaking into each other's windows almost every night for the past eight months, he'd probably drop dead from shock. That, or kill someone.

"Oh geez, shut up _please_. Both of you," Prim says in a mortified tone.

I just shrug as I reach for my laptop. Rory puts his clothes back on and walks over to the window with Prim's hand in his. I roll my eyes and keep them glued to the screen of my laptop as I hear the same old predictable exchange:

"I love you," Prim whispers as she wraps her arms around his waist and leans up to kiss him.

"I love you more," he murmurs back with a suggestive edge to his voice.

"I hate you," I mimic in a sarcastic tone, placing my hands over my heart. "Oh, but I hate you _more_—"

"_Katniss_…" Prim glances back at me with narrowed eyes and shakes her head. I shrug unapologetically and focus back on my computer screen as she turns to Rory once more. "I'll see you tomorrow. Dream of me?"

"Trust me, I'll be doing a lot more than just dreaming of you tonight—"

"_Good night_!" I call out sternly to speed things along.

With one last drawn-out kiss, he finally disappears out the window, and Prim sighs as she comes over and sits next to me.

"Uncle Haymitch said you got a love letter. Can I see?"

I know she probably wouldn't take no for an answer anyway, so I hand it to her without even bothering to look up from my computer screen.

She has almost the same reaction Madge did to the Candy Gram—she squeals and practically bounces as she asks, "You got a Candy Gram and a rose, too? You _have _to email this person, Katniss. Oh my gosh, this is so exciting! Do you even realize how romantic having a secret admirer _is_?"

"I think it's kind of creepy and annoying, myself," I retort. "I plan on emailing who ever it is and telling them to knock it off. It's just a stupid joke and I don't find it very funny."

"But what if it's _not_ a joke?" she counters with raised eyebrows and a huge grin. "What if someone _really _has a huge whopping crush on you, wants to kiss you, and make love to you—"

I stick my tongue out and shake my head at the absurdity of it all. "Then I guess they're in for a huge disappointment."

"Would it be so disappointing if you fell in love, Katniss?" Prim gives me a sympathetic look as if I'm an injured puppy or something.

"Yeah, it would be," I reply irritably as I pull up my email. "Falling hurts. And anyway, this isn't anything more than someone going to great lengths to make fun of me."

"By buying you a rose and a Candy Gram?" she asks skeptically.

"Yeah. So I don't _suspect_ it's a joke," I answer.

"Whatever." Prim sighs in defeat and walks over to her bed. "Don't be _too_ harsh on the poor guy, though. It might really be someone who likes you."

I don't reply, I just type:

_If this is a joke, it's not a very funny one and you're not fooling anyone._ _What do you want out of this and who the hell are you?_

My stomach twists into a knot as I press send. I'm not sure I want to know the answers.


	4. Want

_Chapter Four_

**Want**

The first thing I do when I wake is grab my laptop and check my email. When I see a grand total of zero messages in my inbox, however, I roll my eyes and quickly close the lid. I really don't know what I expected; I sent the email right before going to bed—the person probably hasn't even seen it yet.

And if they have: so what?

Even if it turns out that this_ isn't_ just an elaborate prank to humiliate me, it's more than likely just some desperate guy pretending to be sweet by throwing around words like 'romance' and 'Valentine's Day' in hopes that I'll melt faster than an M&amp;M under the summer sun and he'll get laid.

So really, I should be relieved they haven't replied. _Not_ disappointed. In fact, I hope they _never _reply. And if they do, maybe _I _won't. Maybe I won't even read their reply at all. I already feel like a big enough idiot for sending an email in the first place. Now they have my email address, _along _with my home address, which kind of creeps me out a little.

"Well?" Prim sits up in bed with a huge grin and wiggles her eyebrows. "Did your secret admirer write you back?"

I shake my head. "No, thankfully. And it's not a secret admirer."

"Um, that's _exactly _what it is, and it's totally romantic," she counters. "Aren't you excited just a little bit?"

"No, it's creepy. He knows my address, my locker number, and now my email. That's stalker territory."

"It's a small town, everyone knows everyone. It doesn't take major detective work to find out numbers on a mailbox. Besides, there's a fine line between romantic and creepy. It's not creepy unless they're, like, asking for nudes or sending dick pics or—"

"Isn't that how all your relationships start?"

"Funny, Katniss," Prim dryly replies and tosses a pillow, which flies past me and lands on the floor. I stick my tongue out at her and she rolls her eyes as she continues, "_No_. As I was _saying_, a guy sending things like roses and Candy Grams is sweet, not creepy. Think about it – someone is spending their time and money to make you happy, to make you feel special, all the while not even looking to receive instant recognition or gratification for it. It's pretty romantic."

"Yeah, it's a pretty romantic prank, I'll give them that much. They wasted their time and money and I got a lollipop and rose out of the deal, so the joke's completely on them."

I place my laptop on the bedside table and walk over to my dresser. I avoid looking at Prim as I change out of my pajamas, but I can still feel her eyes burning a hole through me.

"What _would_ you consider romantic, anyway?" she asks thoughtfully after a moment. "I mean, what would a guy have to say or do in order for you to fall for them?"

"I'm afraid I didn't come with an instruction manual," I deadpan. "To my knowledge, my love doesn't activate with a secret word or a flip of a switch."

She sighs and shakes her head. "No, Miss Cynical. I'm saying, in _general_, what is one thing you'd consider undeniably romantic and sweet?"

"I don't know…" I shrug and close my eyes to block out her expectant gaze. I know she won't let the subject drop until I throw her a bone, however, so I quickly rack my brain for something to satisfy her curiosity. I go with the first thing that pops into my mind, "Well… there's this guy at school that's secretly taking archery lessons to impress someone he's had a crush on for a long time. I guess that's kind of sweet."

When I open my eyes again, Prim is staring at me with her eyebrows raised and a huge, knowing smirk. For some reason, my cheeks begin to burn and I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"What?" I snap.

"You like him," Prim says, not as a question, not as a suggestion, but as a fact.

"Ha! No, no, _no_," I reply with a laugh that comes out more like a cough mixed with a snort. "Not at all. You couldn't be more wrong. I mean, I like him, but I don't like _like_ him. He's totally not my type."

Because my type is straight.

"Okay. I believe you," Prim says in a high-pitched, dismissive tone that indicates she definitely does _not_ believe me. Well, I'm not even going to justify that with a reply. I can already tell this is one of those scenarios where any further denial only makes me look guiltier. My glare goes seemingly unnoticed as she stands up, stretches, and pulls her nightgown over her head before skipping over to her closet. "So did he tell you _who_ he has a crush on?"

"No, because it's none of my business and it's none of your business either. It's no one's business. And I really don't feel like talking about this anymore—"

"_You_ love archery, Katniss," she states meaningfully.

"So? Your point…?"

"What if _you're_ his crush and he's trying to impress you? What if he's your secret admirer?" Prim asks, sending me a conspiratorial wink over her shoulder. "After all, how many _other_ girls at our school love archery as much as you? Hell, how many girls actually _enjoy_ it?"

"I'm sure _many_ girls enjoy it. Archery is awesome," I assert, cutting my eyes away from her as I sit on the bed to put on my socks. She snorts at this, but I continue undeterred, "And I'm definitely _not_ his crush. He's gayer than a Lisa Frank unicorn, Prim."

Not to mention, even if Peeta _was_ straight he'd have no interest in me—he's an upper class, athletic, artistic, pretty boy who could have his pick of any girl. Girls who are dainty, darling, and dollish. Girls who are blond, bubbly, and big-breasted. Girls who are totally opposite of me. Girls like Prim.

But Peeta likes guys, so that definitely puts me on a whole different spectrum of what he'd be interested in. Not that I'd ever _want_ him to be interested in me, or that I could ever be interested in him. We have nothing at all in common.

"Oh." She looks slightly taken aback for a moment and then shrugs. "Well, I _could've_ been right."

"Yeah, but you're still completely wrong."

* * *

The bus ride to school goes by pretty uneventfully.

Typically, I hitch a ride with Gale. I used to drive myself, but the transmission decided to go out on my car a few months ago. Seeing as to how it was twice as old as I am, and the price of repairing it would've cost more than what I paid for the dang thing, I just sold it to an auto salvage shop. Now, I'm saving all the money I can for a big down payment on a new car and a place to live once I'm out of school. Chipping in for gas money and being the third wheel in Gale and Madge's love-mobile for a few months is a small price to pay for eventual freedom.

This morning, however, Gale sent a text stating that he wouldn't be going to school today, and neither would Madge. When I asked why, he only responded that 'he'd tell me later', so I take that to mean they're both playing hooky to hump each other all day. Fitting for a Wednesday, I guess. So now I get to spend the whole day alone.

Wonderful.

As usual, I'm one of the first people to enter English class. I quickly walk to the very back row and take my favorite seat in the corner, next to the window. As I'm in the process of taking my binder and textbook out of my backpack, I hear someone sit down in the desk right beside mine. I can't help finding this a bit annoying and intrusive. There are at least 30 other empty desks this person could've picked.

For a moment I debate moving to another seat, and how to do it without seeming like a complete bitch, but then I hear a familiar voice greet me with a cheerful, "Good morning!"

My stomach does a somersault as I glance over and find Peeta Mellark, looking far too happy to be awake this early in the morning.

"Hey," I reply dully. I try to think of something else to say, but nothing comes to mind. Luckily, Peeta doesn't seem to notice or care about my short acknowledgment as he abruptly averts his eyes from mine and turns his focus to retrieving something from his backpack.

The silence between us suddenly feels very awkward, so I open up my textbook to a random page and pretend to read. My mind is everywhere but on the book, though. The more I try to dismiss and forget what Prim had said this morning – 'you like him' – it replays in my head, over and over again like a CD skipping. Of course I don't. Not in _that_ way. But it almost feels like I need to explain myself, as if Peeta could guess exactly what I'm thinking if he looked hard enough.

I'm being ridiculous, of course.

I take a deep breath and try to think of something else to say, but before I can, Peeta places a cookie as big as my face down in front of me. An elegantly and expertly decorated bow and arrow made of brown, black, and silver icing resides in the center of it. My mouth drops open slightly at this and my stomach does another somersault.

Finally, I look over at Peeta with a frown and an eyebrow raised in question. "What's this for?"

He shrugs, giving me a half-smile. "For your patience with me yesterday," he explains.

I glance around the room, wondering if anyone else is watching our exchange, but luckily no one seems to be paying attention to us. I feel a little relieved at that. Not for my sake, but for Peeta's. It would suck for anyone to think we're flirting with each other or anything. Especially with this guy he wants to impress, the last thing he needs is a rumor that he has a girlfriend.

"You _paid_ for my patience yesterday, and besides… it was fun, compared to the bratty kids I usually teach," I state, returning his smile, which seems to make his smile even bigger. The morning sunlight reflects in his eyes, making them such an intense, bright blue they almost glow. I catch myself staring, for how long, I don't know—a minute, seconds, milliseconds?—and quickly glance down at the cookie on my desk. "Thanks though. The bow and arrow's a nice touch. Did you decorate it yourself?"

"Yeah," he answers. "It's peanut butter, in case you're wondering."

"My favorite," I reply honestly. Good guess on his part. Then again, peanut butter isn't exactly an uncommon favorite. He probably just went with what sells best at the bakery.

"I know." He says this in a casual, matter-of-fact way, but of course he couldn't _actually_ know. He's more than likely just making lighthearted conversation.

I immediately look over at him and ask, "You know? How do you _know_?"

Peeta's eyes widen at my question at first, but then they relax again only a second later. He licks his lips and shrugs before answering in a confident rush, "Well, you've been coming to the bakery for years. We pride ourselves on remembering what our customers like. You always get peanut butter or sugar cookies, occasionally a cupcake, but peanut butter cookies more often than not. You usually only get the sugar cookies when you're with your friends."

I stare blankly at him for a moment, not really knowing what to make of what he'd just said. I mean, I know what he _said_—I just don't understand _how_ he can remember the exact things that I order. Mellark Bakery is extremely popular and they probably see hundreds of people a day, no doubt thousands in a week, and they also have a very wide-selection of baked goods. I sometimes have trouble remembering names of kids I teach multiple times a week for a whole month, and we don't even come close to scratching the surface of business the bakery receives.

"That's… really observant of you. You have a remarkable memory," I finally reply. I then find myself rambling to make up for my brief pause, "Gale's weird and hates peanut butter so we all compromise with the sugar cookies. I know we _could_ get an assortment, but it's cheaper to get only one kind—not that your prices are too expensive. They're not. In fact, they're pretty cheap. I'm just trying to save for a car. And Gale's _always_ cheap, no excuses for that—"

Peeta nods and looks as if he's about to reply, but luckily the bell rings and the teacher closes the door, signaling the beginning of class and saving me from making an even bigger idiot of myself.

* * *

Towards the middle of class, our English teacher starts to sound extremely reminiscent of the principal in Charlie Brown. I rub my eyes to stay awake and rest my chin on my hand to keep my head propped up. My eyes wander around the room, however, and I find my mind wandering as well.

I glance over at Peeta and see that he's sketching something in his notebook, seemingly as bored as I am. Curious as to what he's drawing, I lean slightly closer.

I expected something inane—some sort of cartoon character or a random doodle like a penis. But I was wrong. It's a rose. A perfectly shaded, extremely realistic looking rose. I knew Peeta was talented—in fact, in our elementary school days I used to ask him to draw me things. Everyone did. But I had no idea he'd gotten _this_ good….

I become entranced with the ease in which he shades each petal – going from dark to light with such finesse and precision it doesn't seem possible that it's coming from his hands, even more so that he's doing it all from memory. It's so enthralling I feel like I'm witnessing an act of pure magic. I then find myself watching him, wondering how in the world he's doing it. He chews on his bottom lip as he stares down at the paper, and it's like he's lost in his own little world, one where beauty is so abundant it pours from his fingertips onto paper. I notice he has one thick curl that keeps falling over his left eye, which he smooths out of the way every so often only for it to bounce right back to where it was. Between that and his impossibly long eyelashes, I don't understand how he can see to draw at all.

All of a sudden, he looks over at me with a smile tugging the corners of his lips and his eyebrows raised in question. My eyes widen, and my mouth drops open to explain. But of course I _can't _explain. I feel like a kid being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Except… I'm not guilty of anything, am I? Maybe for being nosy, but that's not a crime. Why is my heart beating like I just ran 5 miles? I was _only_ watching him draw. Nothing to feel weird or guilty about. If he didn't want anyone watching him draw, well… then he shouldn't be drawing in class.

Still, I feel like I should explain why I was staring. God, how long _was_ I staring? How long was he aware that I was staring? I _wasn't _staring. I was admiring a work of art.

'_It's beautiful. Just admiring,' _I quickly write on a corner piece of paper. I decide that sounds incredibly cheesy on its own, so I also add, _'Had to focus on something. Might fall asleep.' _

Without looking over at Peeta, I tilt the paper up for him to read, which I see him do from the corner of my eye. I quickly glance over and he nods once in acknowledgement, his eyes glinting in a playful, elated manner that makes my stomach flip in a weird way, and then he turns his attention back to his notebook once again.

A few seconds later, he tilts a piece of paper in my direction and I look over to read_, 'Me too.' _

Then I do the lamest thing I could possibly do: I give him a thumbs up.

I focus intently on the teacher for the rest of the class. In fact, I avoid looking in Peeta's direction altogether. I don't know what my problem is. In all the years I've known him, I've never felt this way around him before.

Then it hits me...

I'm going to _kill_ Prim.

This is all her fault. She had to go and plant the seed in my head about liking Peeta, and now I feel all awkward about it. I don't like him like _that_, of course… but now I feel as if I have to prove I don't. Which is insane. I don't _have_ to prove anything. He's gay and we're just friends. Friends act like this. Friends admire each other's artwork.

Wait. _Are_ we friends… or just friendly acquaintances?

Who cares? Not me.

When the end of class finally arrives, I make a mad rush to put all my things away and make a hasty exit. As I'm leaning over to zip my backpack, however, I feel something being placed down on my desk. I glance over my shoulder in time to see Peeta's back retreating from the classroom.

And then I look down at my desk.

It's the rose drawing.

At the bottom it says: _For you, _with a casual little smiley face.

My breath catches in my chest, and for a moment I'm slightly dumbfounded. Well, it's certainly better than the real rose that's still stuffed at the bottom of my backpack. At least this one's worth keeping. I fold the drawing in half and carefully slip it into the front pocket of my backpack, wondering what exactly I'm going to do with it. Frame it? That might give the wrong impression. Prim would never let me live it down. But it's a crime to keep art this magnificent hidden away.

I'll figure it out later.

One thing's for sure: whoever winds up with Peeta is going to be a very lucky guy.

* * *

The next few classes are uneventful. Thank God.

During lunch, I decide to go to the library. I don't usually do this, but since Madge and Gale are gone today, I have no one to sit with and I don't want to look all sad and friendless by sitting alone. I open a few random books, but nothing catches my interest. I didn't really come in here to read, though. I just came in here to hide from people.

At least one thing's going right for me today: no secret admirer crap.

As soon as I think that, though, my eyes land on all the student computers that are currently unoccupied. I sigh and look away. No. I'm not going to check my email. I'm not going to ruin the rest of my day by reading some stupid message that may or may not exist by now. It's probably from Gale anyway. Or some other idiot. I'll check my email when I get home. Maybe. Maybe I won't check it at all. I have self-control—I have tons of it.

A few minutes later, I find myself on a computer checking my email.

Crap. They replied. The mouse hovers over the email. I debate opening it right now, or whether I should wait till I get home. Or whether I should ignore it altogether.

Finally, I decide it doesn't matter and click on it with a roll of my eyes.

My eyes narrow as I read:

_Katniss,_

_I promise this is not some sort of cruel prank or joke, and that I'm being 100% genuine. I would've come forward in person with all this, but… sometimes there are certain things you can express freely in written word that may be otherwise awkward to proclaim in person. It's much easier to write things out, to tell you how I truly feel, than to become a tongue-tied bumbling fool in front of you. Rest assured, that __**will**__ happen eventually, though—by Valentine's Day, in fact—that is, if you're willing to meet by then. If you choose not to, I'll leave you be without another word; no hard feelings. _

_Anyways, on to answer your questions:_

_**Who is this?**__ This is someone who has admired you from afar for years and is, quite frankly, a huge coward for not telling you sooner. I suppose it's been easier to entertain the fantasy of chance rather than tempt the reality of rejection. However, this is our senior year, and I know that if I don't tell you now, I most likely never will. I don't want to take the chance of regretting the chance I never took. I no longer wish to dance with the shadows of doubt when I'd much rather dance with you._

_**What do I want?**__ I want to discover all your little quirks, all the subtle things that add up to who you are, the good and the bad. I want to count the freckles on your body and memorize every speck of color in your eyes. I want to press our palms together and thread your fingers between mine. I want to feel the silk of your hair against my chest and your breath upon my lips. I want to inhale you, savor the taste of you, I want to cloak you in the warmth of my arms and whisper into your ear all the ways in which you mesmerize me. I want to know the __real__ Katniss Everdeen, without filter and without walls. I want to know your favorite color. I want to know your favorite animal. I want to know your favorite food, song, TV show, and movie. I want to know all the things you hate, too. I want to laugh with you and cry with you and bask in peaceful silence with you. I want to show you __true__ romance, passion, and love. I want to make you happy._

_Essentially, I want everything. I want the impossible. I want you._

Well, damn.

* * *

Thank you to all the people who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed so far! Reading your feedback and seeing that people are still interested in this story seriously makes my day and fills me with inspiration. You all are wonderful! I know most of you have waited a long time for a new chapter, so I hope this one didn't disappoint. :) I'd love to hear what you think of the story/chapter! Thanks again!


	5. Candy Grams

_Chapter Five_

**Candy Grams**

I stare at the computer screen for a few minutes, reading and rereading the email, trying desperately to make some sort of sense of it. As hard as I try, however, I can't seem to find the joke within the message. It seems uncomfortably _real_. And intimate. As if the person who sent it really meant what they were saying, but of course that can't be true. I try to imagine anyone feeling this way about me and it just doesn't make any sense.

Quite frankly, I'm not that interesting. If a guy is willing to go to these sorts of lengths to impress a girl, well, there are far better options to choose from. Unless this guy is totally desperate, which could very well be the case. This is a small town. The romantic pickings are slim to none.

A thought suddenly occurs to me - what if the person who sent the email didn't even write it? I square my shoulders and jut my chin, feeling as if I've just solved the puzzle. I type a few lines from the email into Google and hit search, but when I find no matching results I'm back to square one: confusion and frustration.

I try to convince myself that it's just Gale behind all this; I try to shrug it off and push it all to the back of my mind, but… I know for a _fact_ that there's no way in hell that he could ever write anything like this, especially for the sole purpose of a prank. He might be a sarcastic asshole at times, but he's not cruel. He wouldn't take things this far. Besides, he doesn't even own a computer. I mean, it's possible he could've sent it by phone or on Madge's computer, but I highly doubt it. He can barely even text right, let alone type an entire email with good grammar, and seeing how he's not a love-letter-and-roses sort of guy when it comes to his own girlfriend, it's extremely unlikely he'd waste such an effort on me. And if he _did_, well… it'd be seriously creepy and weird and the joke would be completely on him. _I'm_ not the one sending sappy 'anonymous' love letters, after all. I'm only receiving them.

I doubt Madge would do anything like this either. Despite her questionable taste in men, she's typically kind and mature. She's really not the type to prank anyone, especially like this. As I said before, if this was sent as a 'joke' it's bordering on cruel; it crosses the line from harmless shenanigans to callous humiliation. This isn't a rose or a cheesy Candy Gram poem, after all. It's _well_ past that.

I purse my lips, squeeze my eyes shut, and take a deep breath as I contemplate how to respond, or if I should. What exactly would I even say? Admittedly, despite my reservations, I can't help finding the message a little flattering and sweet… but what if it really _is_ just a joke? Or what if it's actually real and it turns out I have no interest in the sender? I mean, what if it's someone like Ross Johnson, the boy who used to sit in front of me in third grade and eat his boogers like they were candy? There is absolutely no way I could ever forget or look past that, no matter how nice his words may be. There is no way that mouth would ever come close to touching mine.

My eyes then dart open as another possible suspect pops into my head, and this time it's as if a lightbulb has brightened and bells have rung.

_Prim._

She _s_eemed awfully curious and encouraging about my 'secret admirer'. In fact, now that I think about it, she _does _have a way with words. She even won first place in a short story contest a few years back. Of everyone I know, she'd be the most likely to write something like this, being the romantic she is. _And_ she's always going on about how I should go on dates, how I probably have a lot of boys who like me... you know, a bunch of pseudo-encouraging crap. As if I need a guy to be happy or complete.

Perhaps this is her way of nudging me, of trying to make me believe that someone could actually like me. But what does she think this would accomplish anyway? Disappointment? What if I actually decided to take this supposed 'secret admirer' up on his eventual reveal? What would happen then? I'd get stood up, that's what. What's harmless about that? Again, if this is a joke or anything other than absolute honesty from a guy who actually _does_ like me—which is beyond doubtful—it's just really mean-spirited.

I log off the computer and promptly leave the library. I'll deal with this when I get home. There's nothing I can do about it in the middle of the day anyway.

* * *

I share another class with Peeta after lunch.

When I enter the room, I see that he's already standing and talking to a group of his friends, so I avoid eye contact and quickly find a seat by myself at a lab table in the back of the room. It's no different than normal, really, but I never paid much attention to him before—I never knew _he_ paid attention to _me_. He was just another classmate. He's _still_ another classmate; just one who I give archery lessons to and who gives me personalized cookies and beautiful drawings. We're not friends in any sense though, so I don't expect him to acknowledge my presence in front of others.

Gale and Madge usually sit with me in this class, and I feel like a sad loner sitting all by myself. I quickly take my Biology textbook out with the intention of pretending to read, and flip it open to a random page just as someone takes a seat beside me.

"Ah, the male reproductive system. Exciting stuff."

I slam the textbook shut—which, to my luck, happened to open up to a diagram of a penis—and then cut my eyes at the guy who made the wisecrack. I immediately avert them, however, when I see that it's Peeta. What the hell? Why does he keep sitting by me today? I know he's friendly—perhaps _too_ friendly—but I'm not used to this. I'm not used to people_ choosing_ to sit next to me, let alone trying to start a conversation with me.

"You'd know more about it than I would," I mumble. As soon as the words tumble out of my mouth I feel like banging my head against the desk. I have the urge to explain myself, to say that I meant he'd know more than me because he _has_ a penis, not that he's interested in the topic because of his sexual preference. But I refrain. Best not to dig myself any deeper.

"Well, I _do_ have some experience with the subject matter," he quips.

"I'm sure you do." Not wanting to continue an awkward conversation about penises, I hastily change the subject, "I wasn't reading about _that_, okay? It just so happened that my book opened up to that page."

"I believe you…." His voice is full of mirth. I glance at him to see that he's biting back a smirk, his eyes alight with mischief. _Peeta Mellark_ is teasing me… and I'm not quite sure how to react to it. He's usually so timid; this is definitely a new development. Maybe the archery lesson helped him loosen up a bit? I don't know. I'm not sure what to think about any of this.

"Why are you sitting by me anyway?" I finally ask, my gaze sweeping around the room. I'm surprised that everyone else seems to be oblivious to how strange this is. I expected at least a couple people to be staring or snickering, but we might as well be invisible.

"Well, I noticed Gale and Madge are absent today and we sometimes need lab partners on Wednesdays," he shrugs. "Plus you looked kind of lonely, sitting all by yourself over here."

"What if I _wanted_ to sit all by myself?"

"Do you? I can sit somewhere else if you want." He raises his eyebrows in question, a slight pink tingeing his cheeks. The smile is gone from his face now and he looks apprehensive, as if I'd just slapped him with my words or something. Great. He's just trying to be thoughtful, and I had to whip out the rudeness.

"No, no… you can stay! It's fine," I blurt. "I was just being hypothetical. I didn't actually _mean_ it."

At my reply, his face brightens with a smile again and I feel a weird sensation in my gut.

Without another word, he opens his backpack and retrieves a notebook and a pencil.

"Oh, are you going to draw?" I ask as nonchalantly as possible. At least if I bring it up and make it seem like it was my idea, I'll have a reason to watch without him thinking I'm a complete weirdo. I don't want a repeat of first hour, after all.

"I can, if you'd like. What do you want me to do?" he replies eagerly, looking elated and honored that I'd asked.

"I don't know," I shrug, "anything you want."

"Okay. In that case, I'll draw you."

"_Me_?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in confusion. "Why? That seems like a really good waste of art."

His hand pauses, holding the pencil just above the paper. He turns his head towards me, a deep frown etching his features, and studies my face for a moment. It makes me feel awkward, so I sigh and look away.

"Well, I disagree. I think you're perfect," he replies strongly. I give him a sideways glance and he clears his throat, finishing quickly with, "for sketching. You're, um… very expressive. And I need to work on sketching people anyways, so…."

"Expressive?" I give a small snort. He nods as he returns his focus on drawing. "I've never heard that used to describe me before."

"Well, it's true, and I mean it in the best way possible," Peeta replies, sketching the outline of my head. "I mean, anyone can see that you kind of put up a wall, but your face—your eyes, lips, and all—they speak volumes, you know?"

"No, not really. How does my face 'speak volumes', aside from actually talking?"

As far as I know, my face is just a face, and not one that's particularly endearing. In fact, Gale always teases me about how much I scowl, which isn't really intentional. I just have a bad case of resting bitch face.

"Um…" Peeta sucks in a breath and rubs the back of his neck, but doesn't look up from the paper in front of him. "It's all in the little details, I suppose. Your eyes… they, um, they're very passionate, I guess."

"Passionate?" I repeat slowly. What in the world is that supposed to mean?

"Maybe that wasn't the right word to use… er… striking, animated maybe? I just, uh, I mean you… god, I sound like a complete idiot. Sorry." Peeta cringes and covers his face, which is now cherry red. Letting his hands slide down his cheeks, he turns to me and gives a small, sheepish smile. "I just meant you can tell when you really care about things, like when you were training me yesterday. Your eyes just kind of light up when you enjoy something, and darken just as much when you're upset."

"Oh," I reply lamely, not knowing what else to say. I suddenly feel very self-aware of my eyes and fix them intently on the table. My stomach is doing somersaults, which is ridiculous, but I can't help it. Peeta's an artist, a sensitive soul, so of course he notices nuances about people. The fact that he's apparently been observing my eyes means absolutely nothing.

Plus, he's gay. So it's not like it was in a romantic way or anything. That's probably why he seems so flustered, because he doesn't want to give the wrong impression.

I fold my arms onto the table and rest my chin upon them just as the bell rings, signaling the beginning of class and the end of our conversation. I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or disappointed.

No more than class begins, we have to take notes, which forces Peeta to put his sketch away. He writes on a piece of paper that he'll 'finish it later'. I've never been more grateful for note-taking, to be honest. It's kind of awkward to sit next to someone as they draw you. I'm a bit wary of seeing myself through someone else's eyes… especially someone as artistically talented as Peeta. After all, 'expressive' doesn't in any way equal pretty, and his sketches are entirely too realistic.

The first half of class goes by uneventfully, aside from the fact that my eyes seem to be drawn to Peeta. I can't help taking quick glances at him, and thankfully he seems completely unaware. What exactly is his motive? If he's trying to catch the eye of this guy he likes, why is he suddenly sitting by and talking to me? I mean, _**I**_ know he's not interested in me in a more than platonic way, but _other_ people might see things a bit differently.

When there's about ten minutes left of class, the Candy Grams come.

The whole class seems to wake up as a brown haired boy with glasses begins to call out names of recipients. I feel like sliding beneath the desk as I remember I'd sent one to Peeta. Why now? Why this class, when I'm sitting right _next_ to him? I've always been told I'm horrible at maintaining a straight face when I'm trying to keep a secret.

Then again, I was perfectly vague in my message, it wasn't romantic in any sense, and I didn't sign my name or anything. He has no reason at all to believe _I_ sent it. It could've literally been anyone.

"Peeta Mellark!"

I feel the blood drain from my face as I glance at him. His eyes are wide with surprise, and he seems utterly bewildered as he stands up and makes his way to the front. I watch with dread as he opens the note halfway back to his seat. His eyes narrow slightly as he reads my short message, and then the sweetest, appreciative, most endearing smile slowly curves his lips… and in that moment, I don't regret anything at all.

He's still staring at the pink piece of paper as he sits down beside me.

Before I can say anything, however, I hear my own name being called.

Oh God, no. No, no, no. Not _again_.

With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly make my way up to the front, grab the stupid Candy Gram, and hurry back to my seat as quickly as I can.

I place it down in front of me, uncertain of whether I want to open it or not.

"Another one, huh? Someone must really like you," I hear Peeta state from beside me. I glance at him with a shake of my head and an arch of an eyebrow. He's positively beaming, chewing on his bottom lip to suppress a grin—or maybe a laugh. Probably a laugh, because that _had_ to have been a joke.

"No," I reply shortly. "Anyways, you got one too. You have an admirer, Peeta?"

He looks down at the Candy Gram, which is now on the desk, then takes a noticeable but quick glance at the notes I'd been taking. My mouth drops open and my heart stops as I realize my handwriting is kind of distinctive—big and blocky. Quickly, with trembling hands, I pick up my textbook and place it directly on top of my notes.

I know he knows. There's no way in hell he _can't_ know. I was as subtle as a flamingo in a group of penguins.

"Maybe," he replies. I can't look at his face. I _can't. _"You'd know as well as I would."

I glance at him with wide eyes, ready to explain but not knowing how and _really_ not wanting to.

"They didn't put their name," he continues, giving me an amused, peculiar look. I can't tell if it's because he knows I sent the Candy Gram or because I'm suddenly acting like such a spaz. "It was nice of them to think of me, though. Aren't you going to read yours?"

I shrug, ripping the cherry flavored lollipop from the front of my Candy Gram. I'm still confused about the email I received at lunch, and I have a feeling this little note will only add to it. Besides, I'm still not sure it isn't a big joke. What if the jerk is in this very room? I don't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing my frustration.

However, as the teacher goes back to the lesson and the rest of the class is distracted with taking notes, I find myself unable to resist the temptation. I unfold the Candy Gram, making sure to read it at an angle so Peeta (or anyone else, for that matter) can't see.

_Katniss,_

_I fell for you on the first day of kindergarten. _

_You were wearing a red dress and your hair was in two braids. You were quiet, but when you sang the whole universe faded away. All I could hear, all I could see, was you. _

_It's been that way ever since. _

_Honestly, it's painfully obvious._

_All you have to do is notice._

I close my eyes as I refold the note and slip it into my textbook. I _should_ just crinkle it up or tear it to pieces. Nothing is 'painfully obvious'. No, in fact, it's excruciatingly irritating because the more they say, the less it all makes sense. Who in the hell could be sending these messages? Gale's definitely out of the running now; he didn't even go to this school in kindergarten, and we didn't become friends until I moved to Uncle Haymitch's. Madge and I didn't really become friends until 4th grade. Prim… well, she's still a possible suspect, but she was like 2 when I began kindergarten. I hardly think she'd remember what I looked like on my first day of school.

Then again, maybe she was looking at old photo albums? I never look at them, myself. It just makes me angry to see how our family was before Dad's car accident, before Mom abandoned us… it all feels like lies now. I have no idea if there might be a picture of me on my first day of school, but it's possible. And it's perfectly plausible that Prim might've seen it.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Peeta asks quietly. I open my eyes to see him looking at me in concern. I nod but I don't say anything. His brow is furrowed as if he wants to say something else, but thankfully the bell rings for the end of class.

I leave in a hurry, without another word or a single glance behind me.

I can't wait till I get home.

I've decided I'm not even going to question Prim about any of this. No, if it's her, I'm going to trick her into telling me. I'm going to email this supposed 'admirer' back and give them a spoonful of their own sugar. I'm going to play along, absurdly so, until _they_ feel awkward.

I'm going to turn this joke on _them_.

* * *

**AN:** Ahhh! I know it's been forever since I updated this fic and I'm really sorry it took so long! There will be more to come soon, though; I have at least half of the next chapter already written… and I promise things are about to get very interesting. ;) For those wanting to know how long this fic will be, I originally only intended for it to have around 10 chapters and I'm going to try my best to stick to that. Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear from you! You can also find me on tumblr. My name on there is **dandelion-sunset**. :)


	6. Cookies

_Chapter Six_

**Cookies**

The nightmare apparently never ends.

As soon as Prim and I walk into the house, Uncle Haymitch is quick to inform me that I have another 'love letter' on the kitchen table, along with a big package of cookies.

"Don't worry, I didn't read your secret boyfriend's love-note this time," he assures as if he deserves some sort of medal for respecting my privacy. "I _did_ have a few cookies, though. I'm not sick or dead yet, so they don't seem to be poisoned."

"Ugh. I don't have a secret boyfriend," I mutter.

"No, but you _do_ have a very thoughtful, very _persistent_ secret admirer," Prim states brightly, an eager grin on her face. I wish I shared her excitement, but all I feel is dread. "Oh my God, this is _so_ romantic! I wonder what he wrote you this time!"

Before I have a chance to reply, she practically skips to the kitchen. My eyes widen and I quickly dash after her, catching up just in time to stop her from picking up a dark red envelope. Knowing how incredibly personal the last couple have been, there's no way in hell I want any other eyes to read this one.

She frowns, looking like a little kid being denied a toy, and rebelliously takes a cupid-shaped cookie from a white basket with pink lining. I immediately recognize the cookie as being from Mellark Bakery. I wonder if Peeta would know anything; maybe he can help me find out who's behind all this.

"This is_ my letter_, Prim. Get your nosy butt away," I snap, clutching the envelope to my chest.

"You're no fun," she pouts and takes a bite. "I don't see what the big deal is. I tell you everything about _my_ love life."

"Yeah, you do. Very much against my will," I retort. "And I don't _have_ a love life—"

"Um, I think this qualifies as having a love life."

"No. I don't even know what _this_ is," I reply, waving a hand towards the basket of cookies. "All I do know is whoever keeps sending me all this stuff knows way too much about me. If it's a joke, they're well past the realm of funny, not that I ever thought it was. Now it's just getting weird."

Prim cocks an eyebrow and shakes her head, giving me an exasperated, disbelieving look. I purse my lips and roll my eyes, awaiting the feel-good nonsense she's undoubtedly going to start spewing as soon as she swallows her mouthful of cookie.

"Katniss, come _on_, I know you can't be that stupid! You _have_ to know it's not a joke by now. And if someone really likes you, which this guy obviously _does_, of course they're going to try and find out what makes you tick! That's not weird; it's thoughtful," she states. "Now, are you going to keep moping about getting a sweet letter or are you going to finally read it? You're killing me here."

"Maybe. Or maybe I should just throw it away and be done with it," I say, crossing my arms. "In any case, it's none of your business."

"You're acting like a child. It isn't like I'm going to tell anyone, but maybe if you let me read it I could help you find out who it is," she tries to reason. "Even if you don't let me read it, _you_ still should. Something tells me this whole secret admirer deal is going to be one of those things you look back on fondly when you're older. Maybe even with the sender and a couple of kids in tow."

A snort of laughter escapes me and for a moment all I can do is stare at her, dumbfounded and incredulous. From the unwavering expression on her face, however, I can tell she's being completely serious. I barely know what I'm doing tomorrow, and here she is setting me up with a future of marriage and kids.

"I… just don't even know what to say to that."

"Don't say anything. Just read the dang letter," she sighs.

Knowing she won't leave me alone until I do and the suspense will only continue to eat away at me, I bite the bullet and grudgingly rip open the top of the envelope. I let it fall to the floor as I take the letter out, clear my throat, and pretend to read:

"It says: _Dear Katniss._ _This is a joke. Ha ha ha. The end,_" I deadpan.

"Oh, it does _not_," Prim counters with a huff. "Be serious."

I shrug, smirking in reply as my eyes wander down to the typed note in my hands. I feel the confusion and frustration settle in once again as I read:

_You're like the sun; radiant and hot, giving life to my days. You make me sweat, and although you might burn me, I can't walk away._

_You're like a storm; mesmerizing to observe from a safe distance, but frightening to approach. But I find it's worth risking the lightning to dance in the rain._

_I can say it with pretty words, but I can also be straightforward: I like you. A lot. More than I've ever liked anyone. Every little thing about you is a turn on. I admire the hell out of you. I've completely fallen for you, and I hope you'll give me the chance to fall in love with you. I also hope that someday you'll feel the same._

_In the meantime, here are some cookies._

_I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow. _

I rub my eyes and suck in a deep, shaky breath. My hands are trembling, so I crumble up the letter that made them that way. This is a joke. _This is a joke. _There's no way someone could feel this way about me. But why would they waste so much money on a joke? Why waste their precious time and energy coming up with romantic notes just to fool me? By now, this has all turned on them. If they tried to pull a 'gotcha!' moment, I have all of this as blackmail.

Nothing about this makes sense.

_Unless…._

I glare at Prim, who is currently looking at me expectantly with a huge, silly grin on her face.

"Well…? What did it say?" she prompts.

"Prim, I swear if it's _you_ sending me all this lovey-dovey crap, I'll tie you to a tree and put an apple on your head for target practice."

I toss the crumbled up note into the trash and turn to retrieve a cookie. I have to make sure they're from Mellark Bakery, after all, and not just an imitation. As I bite into it, there's no doubt in my mind—no one can duplicate their blissful peanut butter cookies.

My gut tightens again as I realize the romantic stalker apparently knows my favorite cookie flavor. That, or it was a really lucky guess.

"Yeah right. Believe me, I have _much _better things to do with my time than send cookies and love letters to my sister," Prim snorts and rolls her eyes as she retrieves the note from the trash and flattens it out. I'd stop her, but chances are she's the one who wrote it anyway. I close my eyes and focus on chewing as she begins to read.

"Oh… my… _God_, Katniss! This is so sweet and sexy, are you kidding me right now? He called you _hot_! You make him _sweat, you turn him on…." _I open my eyes and narrow them at her, but she's gazing at the letter as if it's a check for a million dollars. "Oh, and he wants to _dance in your rain_—" she giggles and gives me a pointed wink, as if that's supposed to mean something more. I sigh and shake my head, my face heating up in spite of myself. "—and he wants to _fall in love_ with you—"

"I read the letter already, thank you," I mutter and quickly snatch it back from her. "You're done now. I knew I shouldn't have let you read it."

"This guy sounds totally head over heels for you!" she heartily proclaims. "If a guy wrote _me_ something like this, I'd be a puddle of feels at his feet. Seriously, how are you not completely melting right now?"

"Because for one thing, I don't know who it is. It could be anyone. It could be someone I despise. It could be a joke—"

"Stop being so cynical! No part about this even _signifies_ that it's a joke. It sounds to me like a guy pouring his heart out to you in the sweetest way possible. You know, not every girl can boast about having something as romantic as a secret admirer. This kind of reminds me of that movie 'You've Got Mail', exchanging messages and falling in love—"

"Ugh, I hate that movie," I cringe and hold up a hand for her to stop. She rolls her eyes and places her hands on her hips, looking resigned to the mini-rant I'm about to give. "The message of it is all wrong, like it's totally okay that the dude's corporate bookstore moved in across the street and caused her to close down her little cozy one. She grew up in the place, it held memories of her mother, it was her livelihood, and yet, it doesn't matter because… _love_! Oh, and who cares about sentiment, she can just work and read to kids in _his_ store! She barely knows the dude, he basically stalks her, but they exchanged a few vague emails so it _must_ be true love! The real message of that movie is that the little guy always loses against big business. But I mean, I guess it's perfect for Valentine's, given the corporate agenda wrapped in saccharine bullshit."

"You read too much into things. Give it a rest. It's just a cute romantic comedy. I mean, geez, are there _any_ romance movies you actually do like?"

I know her question is rhetorical, but I answer anyways.

"Yes, there are lots actually. I've never watched an Emma Stone movie I didn't like," I point out in defiance. "I simply prefer the lead couple to be more than shallow caricatures. It has to be realistic and have depth. I mean, if half of the epic romance movies happened in real life, they'd be getting divorces within a year because they don't even really know each other."

I smirk at Prim's irritated frown. If she doesn't want my opinion, she should know better than to bring the topic up - especially in regards to my situation. It's frustrating enough _without_ adding fuel to the fire.

"Does it ever get tiring being such a pessimist?"

"I'm not a pessimist. I'm a realist. There's a difference," I answer.

"No, you're _definitely_ a pessimist," Prim counters. "You're so afraid of the possibility of someone liking you that you're twisting this sweet thing into something negative."

"I'm not _afraid_, thank you very much. I'm just being cautious."

"Cautious of what? Last time I checked, jokes didn't come in the way of romantic notes and gestures," she says, giving me a pitying look. "I know you have your hang-ups about the past, about Mom and Dad and the rumors at school a couple years ago, but you have to let all of that go. You _have_ to, so you can be happy. I bet not even one person believes those stupid rumors anymore, you made damn well sure of that, and if anyone's idiotic enough to still think that of you, that says a lot more about them. You give off this aura of not giving a damn what people think of you, but you honestly care way too much."

"I'm perfectly happy, thank you, and I _don't _care what people think," I heatedly reply. "And none of that has anything to do with this!"

"Really? Because I think it has everything to do with it. You have major trust issues, I get that Katniss, but not everyone is untrustworthy."

"Please just stop, Prim. I'm really not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed," I say with a groan.

"All I'm saying is, what if this guy means every single word that he's saying? Which, by the way, I think is _way_ more likely than this cruel 'joke' you suspect. If you go into this with your fists up on the defense, you might just crush the guy to pieces when all he wanted to do was make you feel good about yourself. Think twice about how you're going to respond to this. Imagine these messages are from the nicest person you know, and then imagine how you'd both feel if you broke their heart with a callous rejection. It takes a lot of guts to confess your feelings to someone."

"I know that. Of course I don't want to hurt anyone. I'd love more than anything for this to be from a guy I actually like, but I can't be sure of that. If I get too emotionally involved in this, I risk leading him on or ending up disappointed myself. Or like I said, it could just be a joke to humiliate me. I'll deal with this the way I want, okay? So just please butt out."

"I'm butting out," she says, holding her hands up and taking a step back. "I just have a feeling this'll work out great for you if you let it happen."

* * *

I hide out in the bathroom until I know Prim is out of the kitchen. I'll take her words into consideration; I'm not going to be mean to the guy. Not unless he gives me a reason to be. She's right. There's a chance it could be sincere, and if it is, I don't want to hurt anyone. But _I _don't want to be hurt, either.

First and foremost, I need to find out who it is. Once I do, I can begin to make sense of things. The only person who comes to mind is Peeta. He's the only one who can help me right now. The cookies that were sent were bought from his family's bakery. Maybe he'll be able to tell me, or at least give me a clue.

I walk quietly into the living room and notice with a breath of relief that Uncle Haymitch isn't on the couch. I didn't really want to go through the whole nine yards of asking to borrow his truck and him asking why. Gathering all my bravery and determination, I grab his keys and the basket of cookies, and then exit the house.

I have to find some sort of answer.

* * *

My heart drops to my stomach as soon as I enter the bakery.

Peeta's nowhere to be found. Instead, I find a guy that looks very similar to him, only slightly older. I'm guessing it's one of his brothers. I hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not I should just turn around and leave, but then a strong sense of determination comes over me. I'm probably going to get chewed out when I get home over taking Uncle Haymitch's truck, so I might as well make the trip worth it.

I take a deep breath and approach the register.

"What can I do for you?" he asks as I place the basket of cookies onto the counter

"Um, is Peeta around? I really need to talk to him," I say in a rush. He raises his eyebrows and a mischievous, knowing grin takes over his face. I immediately feel like taking the cookies and making a run for it.

"He's in the back. Hold on a sec," he says, then opens a door a few feet behind him. "Hey Peeta! Your _girlfriend_ wants to talk to you!"

"I'm not his—" I begin, but stop as he disappears into the back room. A few heartbeats later, Peeta emerges, red faced and flustered. His eyes widen when he sees me and he quickly makes his way over. He's wearing an apron and his arms are covered with flour.

"Sorry about that. My brothers never give up a chance to embarrass me," he says, giving me a timid, apologetic smile. "It's best to just ignore anything you hear them say."

I nod and chew nervously on my bottom lip, trying to think of a way to bring up what I need to without sounding like a total idiot. Maybe this was a mistake. Now that I'm here, I realize I could've just waited until school tomorrow to ask him. Better yet, maybe I shouldn't ask him at all. He probably couldn't care less about my secret admirer ordeal. Hell, maybe bakers even have their own version of the Hippocratic Oath.

"Am I interrupting your work? I can always talk to you later—" I start, but Peeta quickly shakes his head.

"No, believe me, you're not interrupting anything except a bunch of boredom. I was just making some bread. Rye's got it under control back there," he says. "So… what did you need to talk to me about?"

"These," I point disdainfully at the cookies. He glances down at them, takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and then finally meets my eyes.

"Did they not taste right?" he asks, knitting his brows. "I can give you a refund or an exchange if you want—"

"No, they're perfect. I don't want to _return_ them," I quickly reply. "But I know they're from here. I just want to know who bought them and sent them to me."

"Someone sent them to you?"

"Yeah," I answer, rubbing my eyes. "But like I said, I don't know who."

"Probably the same person who keeps sending you Candy Grams at school?" He quirks an eyebrow and a hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, as if he finds my absurd situation amusing. My cheeks must match the shade of a fire truck. Still, I'm on a mission here.

Averting my eyes from his, I shrug and answer, "Yeah. Maybe. I don't know. I'm hoping you can help me find out who the idiot is."

"Well, did they attach a note?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't signed or anything. It wasn't even handwritten. It just said a bunch of sweet stuff that they probably pulled from the internet." Of course, I know that's not true, but he doesn't need to know that.

He looks down at the half-empty basket, the hint of a smile slowly transforming into a suppressed grin.

"I'd love to help you out, Katniss, but these are our top-selling cookies right now. Anyone could've sent them to you. Hell, even _I _could've sent them to you."

I feel like I've just been punched in the gut. My heart is racing and my hands are trembling. Did Peeta just confess to sending me the cookies? If so, that means he had to have sent the email, letters, and Candy Grams too. I can see him doing that, having a way with words like he does with art. There's no question he'd be sweet enough to do it.

But then… I'm sure he's gay, so that doesn't make any sense. Even if he _wasn't_ gay, there's no way someone like him could ever be remotely interested in me. He's like on a whole different level of species. He's like a lion and I'm like an earthworm.

"What?" I ask hesitantly, narrowing my eyes in confusion. "Did you…?"

"Maybe," he shrugs. "We _do_ deliver, you know, and things like cookies can be mailed. We send out a lot of anonymous packages during Valentine's."

Oh! _That's_ what he meant. _Of course_ that's what he meant. I breathe a sigh of relief and relax a bit. It's not him. I feel stupid for the split-second I even considered it.

"You can't, like, rewind your surveillance camera for the last couple days or check receipts and make a list of people at school who sent something?" I ask, and even as I say it, I know I sound incredibly desperate.

"Even if I _had_ the time to do that, there's no guarantee that it'd be anyone on the tape. They could've mailed it or dropped it off themself, or they might've even gotten someone else entirely to buy them," he answers, rubbing his neck as if I'm making him uncomfortable. "Do you have any idea who might've sent them?"

He raises his eyebrows, looking genuinely interested in my plight. I bet he's laughing on the inside though—or thinking that I'm a complete mess of a person. He could also be thinking that whoever sent me the cookies is a weird, desperate soul. I'd have to agree with him on that.

"No, not at all," I say. "You?"

"Me?" His eyes widen as he points to himself. "You think I'm your secret admirer?"

"No, of course it's not _you_," I blurt with an emphatic shake of my head. "I meant, do you know who it could be?"

"Hey, you never know, it _could_ be me," he says, shrugging and giving a half-smirk.

I roll my eyes and snort at the absurdity of his statement. I know he's only joking, but it stings a little. I know he's out of my league, no matter what his sexual orientation is, but he doesn't have to highlight that fact in such a teasing way.

"Oh, cut the crap, Peeta," I dismiss as playfully as I can while keeping my gaze on the countertop. "It's okay if you don't know, but you don't have to tease me about it. It's embarrassing enough as it is."

"I'm not teasing you, Katniss." His voice is soft, sincere. My eyes flit up to his, and I feel a jolt in my stomach at the way he's looking at me. It's not pitying or amused, it's… something else I can't quite put my finger on. I look back down at the countertop before I can overanalyze. I don't know Peeta well enough to decipher his facial expressions, so I'm not even going to try.

"Look, I hate to even ask this, but I know you're pretty observant and guys talk, so can you please just keep your eyes and ears open for me?"

"Sure. I guess I can do that," he replies. I look at him again; the expression is still there. His eyes aren't avoiding mine as they usually do - maybe that's the difference. They seem bluer than normal, more intense. I want to look away, but I can't. Finally, he bites his lip and looks over at a customer getting up to throw their trash away. What is wrong with me? All this love letter crap is turning my brain to mush.

"I just hope he turns out to be someone you want," he adds with a small smile, returning his gaze to me. I nod and grab the basket of cookies from the counter.

"I hope so too," I reply, taking a couple steps backward. I feel incredibly awkward all of a sudden. "Well, um, I better go now. I kinda hijacked my Uncle's truck to come see you."

"You should hijack your Uncle's truck to come see me more often. I'll fix you up with all the free sweets you can eat," he quips. I give a small laugh, though I'm uncertain whether or not he's joking.

"Don't tempt me. That sounds like a bad habit waiting to happen. Anyways, I'll see you tomorrow, Peeta."

I turn to leave, but right as I'm about to reach for the doorknob, Peeta calls out to me and I turn back around to face him.

"I thought I should tell you, I've been working on my moves. You know, for the archery lesson we have tomorrow?" He enthusiastically enacts shooting a bow, and it's so adorable I can't help but smile. He then places his hands down on the counter, shrugs, and gives me a quick wink. "I'm really looking forward to that dinner."

"Good," I reply encouragingly. "I'm looking forward to it too."

**AN: **I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next one is going to be _really_ fun. ;) As always, I'd love to hear what you think. :) You can also find me on tumblr at **dandelion-sunset**. Thanks for reading!


	7. Confusion

**AN:** Hey all! First, I need to apologize for updating this chapter and then deleting it a couple hours later. I realized upon rereading it that I wanted to make some changes and add a little bit more to it. Anyways, here's the chapter again. For real. Hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

**Confusion**

Before I go to sleep, I decide to send a reply email to Mr. Anonymous.

I sit for a while, thinking of what to say. I write, delete, and start again repeatedly. I keep Prim's words in mind, about not hurting anyone's feelings and imagining it to be the nicest person I know. Immediately, Peeta comes to mind. Of course I don't think it's him, but I try to imagine how horrible I'd feel if I were to hurt someone like him.

Finally, I figure honesty is the best policy so I just tell the person exactly what I think:

_So I'm not exactly sure how to respond to the things you keep sending me, let alone the messages. I'll just say that it's nice of you. I'm still not sure if all this is some sort of prank, but I hope it's not. I hope there really is someone out there who is as heartfelt and thoughtful as your letters make you seem. I'm a little confused about why you chose me though. I'm really nothing special. Nothing like you probably think I am. And to be honest, this whole secret admirer thing is kind of awkward. I don't know you. I don't know anything about you. Until I do, I can't say I feel the same. I can't really say anything at all because… well, what if we don't click when we meet? I don't want you to feel bad and I don't want to be the bad guy at the end of all this. _

_Words can be flattering, but it takes a whole lot more than words to make a relationship work, you know? There has to be chemistry. Right now, you're basically just a stranger that says nice things. And in all honesty, you don't have to do any of it. The roses, the Candy Grams, the cookies… all sweet gestures, but irrelevant because I don't know who they came from. If you gave them to me in person, if you said all this stuff to my face, maybe it'd be different. It's not like I'd laugh or be mean to you. I just want to know who you are. You seem to know a lot about me, but I know absolutely nothing about you. It seems a bit one-sided. Just talk to me in person._

I read it over a few times, hesitating whether or not I should send it. Do I really want to know who's behind all this? What if it turns out to be someone completely awful? I then reason that even if that happened to be the case, knowing who it is is better than not knowing at all, so I finally say 'screw it' and press send.

May the odds be ever in my favor.

* * *

It started out innocently enough.

Peeta and I were on the target field, practicing shots, and then somehow we ended up here. In bed. Whose bed, I have no idea. It doesn't matter. At the moment, all that _does_ matter is the heat of his naked body curving into mine and the velvety caress of his hands upon my skin.

"I've wanted you for so long," he murmurs into my ear. The heady baritone of his voice sends a wave of pleasant shivers down my body, settling at my core. I'm so overcome all I can do is moan. "_So_ long, Katniss…." His hand trails up my midriff to cover a breast. I arch my back into his touch, feeling every nerve ending burn with life.

"I thought you were—" I start to whisper, but I'm cut off as his lips capture mine in a soft, languid kiss. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating; way sweeter than any cookie in his bakery.

"You thought I was what?" he asks, smiling against my lips. I tighten my arms around his neck and wrap a leg around his waist, bringing him closer.

"I was wrong. It doesn't matter."

It seems absurd now that I ever thought he was gay. Why _did_ I think that? There's nothing gay about him; the hardness poking against the bare skin of my upper thigh is all the proof I need of that.

"I thought you'd never catch on. I'm happy you finally opened your eyes though; that we're _finally _together. I've dreamt about this for years," he says against my neck, planting kisses between his words.

"Well, you have me now." I thread my fingers through the curlicues at the base of his neck. "Always."

"_Always_," he repeats the word slowly as if tasting it. "I love the sound of that."

He trails his hand from my breast down to my thigh, wrapping my other leg around his waist before positioning himself at my entrance.

As his lips meet mine again, he finally thrusts himself inside me. My heart drums wildly against my ribcage as our bodies move together, our moans and impassioned praises filling the air. This feels so… _right_. More than right; it's downright blissful. I never want it to end. Being with Peeta like this is more than I ever could've imagined – it feels as if everything makes sense now.

A warm sensation builds in my lower belly, begging for release. As our bodies move quicker, I can feel it reaching its edge until it finally spills over. My entire body comes alive, throbbing with pleasure so intense I can't help but cry out, my hands squeezing fistfuls of blanket until it subsides.

And then my eyes shoot open to the blinding light of the morning sun pouring in through my bedroom window.

I'm drenched in sweat and utterly confused.

I squeeze my eyes shut and lie there for a moment, trying to make sense of what I'd just dreamt. It all seemed so real, especially to my body - which is still reeling from the aftereffects. I've had dreams like that before, though rarely, and _never_ with a face or name attached.

I try to forget it all, but the more I do the more I can recall every vivid detail, and I just _know_ it isn't going to fade as the day goes on. No, it's going to torment me relentlessly. How am I going to look at Peeta today, let alone give him an archery lesson? How am I going to talk to him? What if I wind up saying something stupid? I mean, of course I'm not going to say 'oh hey, we had hot, passionate sex in my dream last night and you gave me an orgasm' but _still_….

I groan and cover my face with my hands. I am _not _ready for today. Maybe I can convince Uncle Haymitch to let me have sick day or something.

"Good morning?" I hear Prim say brightly, amusement bubbling in her tone.

Oh God. How long has she been awake? I sit up quickly and look over at her. She's sitting on her bed, hair brushed and already dressed for the day. And judging by the huge, stupid, knowing grin on her face, she's apparently been awake long enough. Play it cool, Katniss. She has _no idea_ what you were dreaming. Sounds can mean anything. If she asks, I'll just say I was having a nightmare.

"Prim, why the hell didn't you wake me up?" I snap, throwing my blankets back. I walk over to the vanity and begin brushing my hair. My hands are shaking and my heart is still going crazy in my chest, so I take a deep breath to try to calm down.

"I didn't want to interrupt your sex dream," she states simply, glancing up as she puts a shoe on. "You still have plenty of time to get ready."

I swivel around and narrow my eyes at her. "I was _not _having a sex dream—"

She arches an eyebrow, the knowing smirk still in place.

"Yeah, you were."

"Was _not_."

"Yeah, and you were totally into it. There's really only one way to interpret _'Oh god, yes, yes!—'" _She's interrupted by a quickly thrown pillow.

"Prim! Shut up. Uncle Haymitch might hear you!" I turn back around to the mirror with a shake of my head. "What is _wrong _with you?"

"Hey, just repeating what I heard. And for what it's worth, you were a lot louder," she says with a small laugh. I scowl at her reflection, which she answers with a wink. "So who's Peeta?"

My eyes widen and my stomach flips. Ugh. This is not good. Sleeping with a muzzle from now on is sounding like a really good idea.

"None of your business!" I assert. "Look, just shut up about it and don't you _dare_ tell anyone! Not even Rory. _Especially_ not Rory. I _swear_, Prim…."

The last thing I need is her blabbing to her boyfriend and her boyfriend blabbing to his brother. Gale would probably have a field day with this. I'd never live it down. He'd also try to make it into something it's not, like I have the hots for Peeta or something crazy like that. I mean, it's one thing to fall for someone unavailable, but it's another thing entirely to fall for someone completely unattainable. And of course I'm _not_ falling for Peeta because that'd be pointless and extremely awkward for both of us.

Gale can never know. Peeta can _definitely _never know.

_No one_ can know.

The dream can never leave this room.

"I won't, _if _you tell me who Peeta is," Prim says with a shrug.

I turn towards her again with a death threat glare.

"There's no 'if' about it. You won't. Period. End of story. If you do, I'll never forgive you."

"Oh, come on. You know I won't tell anyone. I promise," she assures, placing her hand over her heart. "Seriously though, who is this dream guy of yours?"

"Look, I can't help what or _who_ I dream about, okay? It doesn't mean anything," I state dismissively. It _doesn't _mean anything, no matter how realistic it was or how it made me feel when I was dreaming it. The only reason I probably dreamt it was because I was thinking of Peeta just before I fell asleep, when I was writing the email – that's _all_. Just my mind screwing with me. It's really not a big deal. I can tell Prim won't let this go until I answer her question, however, so I continue as casually as possible, "Peeta's just a guy at school and he's _gay_, so…."

"Ah, well he seemed to be the exact opposite in your dream," Prim replies, looking far too curious for her own good. "So is this the same guy you're giving archery lessons to?"

"Yeah," I look at her quizzically, wondering what the hell she's getting at. She seems up to something. I don't like it. "So?"

"Katniss…" she hesitates, then asks slowly, "Did he _tell _you he was gay?"

I sigh and roll my eyes. Of course he didn't. Why would he?

"No, but—"

"You asked?"

"No. I just think he is. Mostly because if he was straight, he'd already be taken," I mutter, moving to my dresser to retrieve a pair of pants and a shirt to change into. I don't have time for this, for her stupid questions and insinuations. It was just a damn dream; it doesn't change anything. There's nothing between Peeta and me besides school and archery. I don't need her making things weirder than they already are.

"You're straight and _you're_ not taken," she points out.

"And there are _many_ reasons why that is, Prim."

"Give me one good reason," she replies, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows in challenge.

"It's way too early to make a list of all my flaws. Just ask the many guys who never ask me out," I retort irritably. "I don't know what you're trying to get at, but you can knock it off, okay? I don't have a thing for Peeta."

"But… maybe he has a thing for you, though?" A snort of laughter escapes me and I shake my head incredulously at her, but she looks as if she's already convinced herself of her nonsensical hypothesis. "It's quite a coincidence that all this secret admirer stuff began when you started giving him lessons. That's all I'm saying."

"Whatever. I never even told you how long I've been giving him lessons. For all you know, the timing doesn't match up at all. In any case, I can tell you with all certainty that Peeta doesn't like me like that," I say. "I think you're reading way too much into all this, and I really don't have time for it. I need to get ready. Isn't Rory waiting for you by now anyway? Go bug _him_. And tell Gale I'll be over in a few?"

"Fine, I'll go," Prim says with an air of finality and stands up from her bed. "I'm butting out. I hope you find your mystery man soon, though, just so you can have some closure. It's giving _me_ a headache and I'm just watching from the sidelines."

I say nothing, giving only a sarcastic wave goodbye as she finally leaves the room.

* * *

I'm pretty much in daze, going on auto-pilot, as I get ready for school.

Between Prim and the stupid dream, my mind is going in all sorts of crazy directions. Of course none of it means a damn thing. Peeta's gay, and even if he wasn't, why the hell would he take archery lessons with me and not tell me why? I mean, that's a pretty bold move – why not take credit for it? But no, he straight out told me he was doing it to impress someone he likes, someone that he's going on a 'hunting trip' with. And besides, he had the perfect opportunity to tell me last night when I asked him about the cookies. Prim would probably have an 'I-told-you-so' aneurysm if she knew the cookies came from his family's bakery. _I_ know it's all just a coincidence though. The secret admirer thing only started because of Valentine's, and the fact that Peeta began lessons around the same time has nothing to do with that.

I debate asking Uncle Haymitch if I can stay home today, but then I decide it's probably best not to poke the bear. I got a major chewing out last night over taking his truck without permission, and even if he _did_ let me stay home, it wouldn't be a pleasant experience. By the disappointed scowl I receive when I pass him on my way out, I can tell I made the right decision by not asking him.

No sooner than I close the front door behind me, Gale honks his horn and yells out his window for me to 'hurry my ass up'.

Wonderful. This day is off to a great start.

"You saw me coming. There was no need for theatrics," I mumble as I sit in the backseat of his car and slam the door.

"I only give you rides out of the goodness of my heart." I snort at this, but it doesn't deter his rant. "All I ask is that you show up on time. We're probably going to be late now, thank you."

"Whatever. I overslept. Sorry."

"So Prim told me."

"So Prim told you _what_?"

"That you overslept," Gale answers, then looks back at me with a frown. "Should she have told me anything else?"

"No," I reply quickly. "We still have plenty of time. Besides, you played hooky with Madge yesterday, so don't be acting like a saint about school today."

"I'm not playing anything. I just like my mornings to go smoothly, otherwise it screws up the entire rest of the day," Gale replies with a shrug as he backs out of the driveway. "As for me and Madge taking a day off yesterday, well… it's been a while. I've been working a lot, and we needed some time to ourselves. And I had my reasons, which I'll let her tell you about when we pick her up. I'm sure she'll be bursting to tell you first thing. I'm surprised she didn't call you last night; must've wanted to save the news for you in person."

"News?" I deadpan. "Oh no. You didn't go and knock her up did you?"

"No, I didn't," Gale answers. "Though if I _had_, I really appreciate your positivity."

The drive to Madge's house is silent. Gale seems to have something on his mind, probably whatever this 'news' is, so he doesn't pay one iota of attention to me in the backseat, which I'm extremely grateful for. I feel as if I'm transparent in more ways than one, and if anyone really looked at me they could tell exactly what I'm thinking. And of course I'm thinking about that idiotic dream. It seems the more I try not to think about it, the more I do.

I need a good dose of brain bleach.

As soon as Madge makes her cheerier-than-normal appearance, the dream is thankfully forgotten for a little while. The first thing she does when she enters the car is give Gale a long, lingering kiss. I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable to be the sole audience of their passionate display of affection. I'm used to seeing quick kisses and such between them, but they're not usually _this_ lovey-dovey in front of me.

"Did you tell her yet?" she asks Gale excitedly. Gale gazes at her with an adoring grin and shakes his head. My gut tightens; I suddenly have a feeling I know what this news might be….

"Tell me what?"

She's practically bouncing in her seat as she turns around and thrusts her hand in my face. As I predicted, on one of her fingers sits a diamond ring. Before I can say anything or even really respond, she blurts, "Gale proposed to me yesterday! We're _engaged_! Will you be my maid of honor? _Please_?"

"Um, this is kind of sudden, but yeah, sure, I guess. Congratulations?" I reply, forcing a smile. I'm happy for them, of course I am, but I also feel like this is the beginning of the end. Once they get married and have kids and all that, I'm going to be the single friend who doesn't really have anything in common with either of them. I can already imagine their looks of pity everytime they see me. But… this isn't about me right now. It's about _them_. "How the hell did you afford an engagement ring, Gale? And why didn't I know about this beforehand?"

"I wanted to keep it a secret until the time came, and you're pretty crap at keeping secrets," Gale states. "I've been saving up for months for a real ring. No fake shit for my girl. I don't write cheesy poetry like your anonymous boyfriend, but I can _still_ be romantic."

"_Not_ my boyfriend," I mutter, but it goes unheard as they're too wrapped up in each other.

"Yes, you can be," Madge agrees, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Surprisingly."

"At least you weren't cliché and didn't pop the question on Valentine's Day. I'll give you props for that."

"Well, I'll be working on Valentine's, so… I figured it'd be as good a time as any," he replies.

I stare out the window for the rest of the ride, avoiding looking at them. I feel like a wobbly third wheel; it's only a matter of time before I fall off. I nod and smile weakly as Madge continues to gush about how beautiful and unexpected the proposal was, and when and where they'll be getting married.

This is all too much, too soon. Way too much to register this early in the morning.

I just want to get to English class.

* * *

When we finally arrive at school, I don't think I've ever been more thankful.

I hastily depart from Madge and Gale and make my way to first hour, which I'm surprisingly early for. I take my usual seat in the back corner by the window, and pray that this day goes by fast and at least somewhat normally.

When Peeta enters the room and my stomach ties itself in knots, however, I know there isn't a chance it's going to be anywhere near normal.

We make eye contact for a fraction of a second, in which he greets me brightly with a grin. I quickly avert my gaze to the desk, my face heating up as images of the dream come to mind again. I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch my thigh to chastise myself. It was only a stupid, meaningless dream and it's not worth making everything weird.

I groan internally, but say nothing as Peeta sits down beside me. Maybe if I ignore him he'll take the hint and go away. I don't mean to be rude, but I also don't want to make a giant fool of myself. As Gale always says, I'm terrible at keeping secrets and lying—and I _am_. Of course I'm _not_ lying or keeping anything secret, but I still feel dishonest, like I'm some sort of perv for fantasizing about doing dirty things to Peeta in my mind. Or, you know, him doing dirty things to me. Maybe 'fantasizing' isn't the right word, because it's not like I'm doing it deliberately.

"Hey," he says. "So how'd it go last night?"

"How'd _what_ go last night?" I snap, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Um, you taking your uncle's truck? I hope you didn't get in too much trouble," he replies, looking slightly taken aback by my response. I mentally facepalm myself for going into knee-jerk defense mode.

"Oh. He yelled a bit, but his bark is worse than his bite. I didn't get in any real trouble."

"Good," he says with a nod, then reaches for his backpack.

Oh no, he's not giving me something _else _is he? Ugh, his niceness makes this all about ten times worse. I'm trying my best to act cool and nonchalant, but I feel completely uncomfortable and as if I might have a panic attack.

He takes out a binder and I feel my anxiety wane a bit. It's short lived, however, because only a moment later he places the most beautiful watercolor painting I've ever seen on my desk.

Holy shit. It's _ME_. At least, I think it's supposed to be me. The girl in the painting has my braid and she's holding a bow, but she looks like some sort of goddess. I sort of figured Peeta wouldn't draw me in a negative light, but this…? This is _beyond_ positive. This is… I don't even know _what_ this is. Does he actually see me as being this beautiful? Or is he just being nice? _Of course_ he's just being nice. Or maybe he just wanted to paint something pretty. I mean, why would he take the time to make ugly or mediocre artwork?

It looks just like me, though. But… I don't get it. I don't get how something can look exactly like me, yet look so radiant at the same time.

"It's um… it's that sketch I started of you yesterday," he explains with a timid, self-conscious edge to his tone. "I was bored last night so I figured I'd paint it. It's not exactly my best, but—"

"Are you kidding me?" I look at him incredulously. "This is _insanely_ good. It looks just like me, but it's—"

"Not nearly as pretty as you," he states, finishing my sentence with a shrug and a small, sweet smile.

I stare at him for a moment, completely speechless. I wait for him to laugh or say 'just kidding' but he seems completely genuine. What in the world did he mean by that? If I didn't already believe he was gay, if it were any other boy, I'd almost think that was an attempt to flirt. Of course, I _know_ that's not the case. He's just being nice. Even if he_ did_ happen to think I was pretty, it's likely only on an aesthetic level. I mean, _I_ think _he's_ attractive even though I know he's gay and unattainable – it's kind of the same thing, right?

Still, the _way_ he said it… it was almost as if….

No, I'm being stupid. I'm letting what Prim said screw with my head, and I'm reading far too much into his simple statement.

I try to think of a way to reply, but I'm not sure how. Saying 'thank you' seems kind of conceited and 'it's way prettier than I am'—which I totally believe to be true—would only come out sounding self-depreciating or like I'm fishing for compliments. Plus, I know Peeta would only make things worse by disagreeing or complimenting me even more.

"Um…" I begin lamely, not knowing at all where I'm going. I just feel I should say _something_ to fill the awkward silence. He looks at me expectantly, and I find myself focusing on how his eyes are catching the morning light just right to make them twinkle. The image of him gazing into my eyes as he leans down to kiss me pops into my head and I immediately avert my gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

A second later, the bell rings for the start of class and I'm luckily saved from having to say anything at all.

* * *

The rest of the school day goes by quickly, and is unexpectedly pretty mundane. This is both a blessing and a curse because it leaves me plenty of time to think. And right now I really, really don't want to.

Candy Grams come in third hour, and the usual panic and dread sets in. I find myself taken aback, however, when my name doesn't get called out. I'm relieved, but also confused… and maybe, dare I say it, a little disappointed. I resent the latter with all my heart, but I can't help it. Maybe I was looking forward to that lollipop? In any case, it seems as if my 'admirer' has chilled a bit, which is fine. I don't expect anything – I never did, but I also can't help wondering why they took such pains to send emails and cookies and Candy Grams the last couple days… and then they just stop cold turkey. Then again, maybe they didn't have a dollar for a Candy Gram. Or maybe they took offense to my email?

I'm overthinking this. It doesn't matter. I didn't get anything, and that's that. The only one who knows the reason behind it is the sender—or _non_-sender—and I obviously don't know who that is.

By the end of the day, I have a major headache. My life is usually pretty boring and predictable. All this Valentine's crap is getting to me and I hate it. I hate that I even care. I never did _before_. It shouldn't matter now. I reason with myself that if this is the object of the joke - to drive me crazy… well, it's working. I'm letting them win. I need to stop thinking about it. All of it. The dream, the 'secret admirer', the absentee Candy Gram, Peeta's odd compliment, Prim's words… there's nothing I can do to change any of it.

I also can't help thinking about Gale and Madge and their engagement. Madge has been in high spirits all day - to a sickening degree. She's been telling anyone who will listen, and basically all the girls think it's the sweetest most romantic thing ever, and I have to act excited each and every time there's a squee-filled pow wow or I'll seem like a total bitch. It's exhausting. I'm happy for them, truly, even if I do think it's a bit sudden. They've been dating a while, and yes I know they love each other, but… we're not even out of high school yet, at least not for a few months. I was hoping we'd be throwing a graduation party before a bridal shower. They're both my best friends, and I know this'll eventually change our dynamic on a major level. And, oh God, what if they wind up getting a divorce and I'm forced to choose a side? I won't be able to, and I'll probably lose both of them. Then again, that was always something I've dreaded - though a breakup would be much less severe.

When school is finally over and Gale drops me off at work, I'm both relieved and anxious.

I have an archery lesson with Peeta this evening, and seeing as to how we haven't said a word to each other since first hour and I've pretty much been avoiding him all day, things should be interesting.

And awkward. Very, _very_ awkward.

* * *

**AN: ** So I was going to have the archery lesson at the end of this chapter, but a pretty major Everlark moment happens during it… and I just felt it'd probably be best to have a chapter solely for what's about to happen. I hope you liked the chapter! Thank you! My tumblr is **dandelion-sunset** – feel free to stop by and say hi!


	8. Bullseye

_Chapter Eight_

**Bullseye**

Work starts off bad and gets worse in a hurry.

It all began when a burly, bearded chauvinist redneck drove up in his huge, overcompensating 4x4 truck, which I'd wager had tacky steel testicles hanging from the bumper. He stomped into the building with his scrawny 5-year-old boy in tow, and demanded he get a lesson right then and there. No preregistration or anything. If it had been up to me, I'd have told him tough luck and good riddance. My boss, Mr. Snow, however, is never one to turn down the chance to grab someone's money, and unfortunately for me, February is basically a dead month for archery lessons.

So the douche got his way.

That wasn't good enough though. Of course it wasn't. When I was introduced as his little boy's instructor, he set eyes on me and sneered, letting out an incredulous guffaw as if someone was pulling an outrageous prank on him. No _girl _was going to teach his boy how to shoot a bow! That is exactly what he said, and he was being completely serious.

Seeing as to how I was the only one clocked in, besides one other woman who was already training someone, I was his only option. It was either me or he'd have to come back another day, and it was clear he wasn't about to give up and leave. After much fuss, as if we could magically make a male trainer appear out of thin air to appease him, he disgruntledly resigned to the fact that he was not going to get his way.

So I spent the next hour on my knees in the cold—I'd forgotten my jacket at home—trying my best to keep my patience as his little boy, a weak, quiet little thing with red hair and huge green eyes that seemed to scream 'help me', had difficulty with the simplest task of nocking an arrow. It wasn't his fault, and in all honesty I felt bad for the kid - not everyone is cut out for archery from the get-go and they need multiple lessons to get the feel of it. That in itself is not abnormal or even very frustrating. I'm used to it.

No, what was trying my patience was his oaf of a father standing a few feet away, muttering and yelling at him as if it would help. Some choice blurbs were 'Even the little girl can do it! Be a man and shoot the damn thing!' and 'Don't be such a pussy'. It took all my willpower not to turn on him and point out that this 'little girl' had years of practice and was actually _teaching_ his son, unlike him. If he was so 'manly' with a bow, why was he leaving the duty to me if he was just going to be impossible the entire time? Verbal abuse isn't going to do a damn thing when it comes to learning archery.

By the end of our lesson, the poor boy was in tears. I could tell his heart wasn't in it and he didn't want to be there at all, but his father was insistent on 'making him a man'. I could imagine these two, years later having a face-off scenario like in one of those cliché drama movies in which the son finds passion in the arts and rebels against sports, claiming 'It was never _my_ dream, Dad! It was _yours_!'

In any case, much to his dismay, the boy was signed up for more lessons. Thankfully, they'll be with Gale and I won't have to deal with any of it again. And I _dare_ the guy to say anything like he did today in front of Gale, because he won't have any of it. Needless to say, by the time Billy Bob Douche &amp; Son leave, my tongue hurts from having had to bite it so much.

Peeta shows up after sunset, and I find my nerves rattled for different reasons entirely.

I'd been so preoccupied all evening, I'd nearly forgotten about our lesson together. For a very brief interlude, the dream had completely faded from my mind. But once I spot him sitting in the lobby, looking all fit and determined with a sparkle in his blue eyes and a friendly, unassuming grin on his face, it all comes rushing back with a vengeance. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to cleanse my thoughts, but it only has the opposite effect. Instead, I envision him gazing down on me, his gentle hands gripping tightly onto my thighs as he enters me.

Oh God, I can already tell this is going to be awkward as hell. Why does that damn dream insist on haunting me? It doesn't mean anything. Nothing. It's pointless random nonsense. That's all. I need to get a grip.

As I approach, he makes eye-contact and stands up, his smile widening in such a genuine, sweet way that it makes my stomach flutter and my heart skip a beat.

"Hey!" he greets jovially and promptly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket to show me a brand new black arm brace. "I hope you don't mind I brought my own protection this time? I got it right after our last session."

"Aww, but I thought the pink one was _so_ pretty on you! It really brought out your eyes." The corners of my mouth quiver to fight a smile as I feign disappointment. "And, you know, it's custom for beginners to keep the same brace they began with. Using anything else is bad luck." He tilts his head and furrows a brow, giving me a quizzical look as if he's unsure if I'm being serious or not.

"It's just, uh, not quite my style?" He scrunches up his face to show his distaste for the pink abomination. "But I mean, if it's against the rules or if you prefer I wear the pink one—"

"The new one's fine, Peeta. I'm just messing with you," I assure. "The more comfortable you are the better you'll shoot, and I'm all for that. So let's go get this lesson started, shall we?"

He nods enthusiastically, beaming once again.

I say nothing and avoid looking at him altogether as I gather supplies and lead him outside. The target field is illuminated by huge stadium lights, and the only other coworker on this shift has already gone home for the day due to business being slow. It's way too quiet—_awkwardly_ quiet, and the lighting makes it feel oddly intimate, as if we have a spotlight shining on us.

"So it looks like it's just us out here tonight," I state as casually as I can. "That's a good thing, I guess. No distractions."

"Not that anything could really distract me from you anyway."

I glance sideways at him, raising an eyebrow in question. What exactly did he mean by _that_? However, all he does is give me an all-too-innocent grin. If it were anyone but Peeta, I'd swear that was an attempt to flirt. But this _is_ Peeta, so maybe that was his idea of friendly banter? I don't know. He's hard to read, and since all my signals seemed to be mixed up today it's best not to try.

Having no idea how to reply, I simply hand him the bow and retrieve an arrow from the quiver hoisted over my shoulder. Without any instruction whatsoever, Peeta brings the bow up and moves into position.

"I think I know why you like doing this so much," he says after a moment. "Kinda makes you feel powerful, doesn't it? Like you're a warrior or something."

"Yeah, I guess. Mostly I just like the idea of shooting things legally. Imagining the target as someone you hate is a great way to relieve anger and frustration."

He chuckles and raises his eyebrows, looking thoroughly amused as he turns his head to look at me. "Good advice. I think I'll try that."

"Really? You're so nice… it's hard to imagine you hating anyone."

"Being nice doesn't mean everyone else is," he replies, shrugging. "Trust me, there are _plenty_ of people I'd like to hypothetically shoot with an arrow."

"Wow, so sweet Peeta Mellark has a dark side. Who'd have thought?" I stand back with my hands on my hips and raise my brows in exaggerated surprise.

"Oh, believe me, I have _many _sides you've yet to see."

The way he says it, it's almost… suggestive. My heart is beating faster than hummingbird wings and my face is so hot you could probably cook an egg on my cheek. Of course he's not meaning anything like _that_; he's simply making conversation. It's just that stupid dream screwing with my head again.

"I'm not sure I ever want to see your bad side," I say, my voice sounding shaky and weird to my own ears.

"Well, you _know_," he gives me a quick wink, "bad can also be really good sometimes. You might actually like that side of me."

My mouth hangs open for a moment as I think of a way to reply, but I quickly close it as I realize I'm speechless. That was _definitely_ suggestive – no doubt about it. I know I'm not imagining it this time, and the dream had nothing to do with it. It doesn't make any sense, but I'm not stupid either. I'm not sure what to think of it, other than he must be confused or saying things he doesn't really mean. After all, Gale and I joke around like this sometimes, but we know it's not serious. Actually, no. Gale and I might talk about sexual things, but never in relation to each other.

God, I'm overthinking things again. _He's gay._ Of _course _he didn't mean it in the way I thought he meant it.

Before I have a chance to say anything, I jump in surprise as he shoots an arrow. It misses the target by a mere couple of inches. He definitely wasn't fibbing when he said he'd been practicing; he's gotten considerably better since our last lesson.

"So anything new about your secret admirer?" he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows as I hand him another arrow. I roll my eyes and avert my gaze to the ground as my stomach starts doing acrobatics. I'm not sure whether it's because of his question or the way his eyes glinted when he asked it.

"Ugh, no," I mutter. "I didn't get a Candy Gram or any roses taped to my locker today so I think I might've scared him off or he's given up."

"I doubt it. Maybe he just saw how embarrassed it made you and didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable?" he replies thoughtfully.

"Maybe. I don't know," I shrug and dare myself to look at him again. He's chewing on his bottom lip and gazing at me rather intently. Then again, he might just be looking at me normally and it's the weird lighting making me imagine features that aren't there at all. "I'm guessing you haven't heard anything about it?"

"None of the other guys have said anything about it. Sorry," he answers as he turns to nock an arrow. "But you should know, I _have _heard guys talk about you before. You have plenty of admirers, they just don't say anything."

I cross my arms and give a derisive snort. I should've known that Peeta had heard guys talking shit about me, how the rumors a couple years ago led them to believe I was an easy lay. Oh yes, I'm sure he's heard all sorts of _wonderful _things said about me in the guy's locker room. Leave it to Peeta to turn filthy, unflattering gossip into something positive. I know what they say behind my back though. It rubs me the wrong way that he'd even bring it up, let alone have the audacity to refer to them as 'admirers'.

"I don't think wanting to get into my pants counts as having admirers, Peeta," I deadpan. "Thanks for sugarcoating it, though."

He immediately lowers the bow and looks at me with wide eyes as if shocked that I'd say such a thing. Well, I _did_ say it. And he has no right to look scandalized. I _know_ what he was insinuating, so I might as well defend myself.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at me as he hesitates, searching for the right words to say. "I mean, yeah, a few guys have said some, uh, _gratuitous _stuff about you, but others have said some rather nice things—"

I wave my hand dismissively, trying to save him from a poor attempt at backpedalling.

"Whatever, Peeta. None of this 'nice stuff' was ever said to me. I've never heard it, so it doesn't really matter. Let's just get back to the lesson, okay?"

He frowns and nods, looking totally deflated. My gut tightens at the thought that I might have hurt his feelings. I didn't have to snap at him like I did. He was only trying to be nice, after all. But still, I don't want to talk about it; least of all with him. Silence falls between us, and the tension is so thick I could wear it as a winter blanket. He brings the bow back up, nocks the arrow, takes a deep breath, and then shakes his head as if something's troubling him. He exhales loudly, then turns to me with the most serious expression I've ever seen on him.

"Listen, Cato is an asshole. _Everyone_ knows that. What he said about you a couple years back? No one believes him, especially after you gave him that well-deserved black eye," he blurts in a rush, his face reddening. "Of all the girls to pull that crap on, he should've known how unbelievable it would be when it came to you. Not for _one second_ did I believe it, and neither did the majority of our classmates."

"Yeah, well the majority of those _classmates_ didn't include the hoard of guys who tried to ask me out afterwards, thinking I was easy. Oh, and while we're on the subject, that pregnancy test I bought, which I'm sure you heard about? Yes, I bought it, but it wasn't for _me_. People should just mind their own damn business."

I know Peeta has heard all the rumors already and I'm sure he's wondered, despite him saying he didn't believe any of it, so I might as well give him the truth.

"Yeah, they should. I completely agree," he replies with a nod. "I, uh, hope you're not mad at me for bringing it up? I just know that it still bothers you and I wanted you to know that not all of us are jerks and gullible to gossip."

"I know. Well, at least I know _you're_ not," I sigh. "And I'm not mad at you. It's just a touchy subject. One I'd rather not discuss."

"Right," he says with a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Um, so I'm just going to shut my mouth and shoot now, okay?"

I nod, returning a small smile to let him know that everything's cool between us and I'm not mad. I'm more bewildered to be having such a personal conversation with him. Before he began taking archery lessons we rarely spoke, and when we did it was only polite small talk.

Peeta shoots again, and the arrow hits the very side of the target but doesn't stick. He closes his eyes and shakes his head in frustration. I think he's being way too hard on himself; he's doing way better than before, and a whole lot better than most beginners.

I hand him another arrow, and he lifts the bow again. His elbow is loose and sticking out a bit, and his arrow is wobbling slightly because of his finger placement. I take a deep breath to work up my nerve before stepping closer and placing my hands on his arm. He immediately stiffens at my touch, and I find myself shaking for reasons unrelated to the cold. I'm trying my best to ignore my nerves and do my job, but my body doesn't seem to want to obey.

"Here. Just…" I straighten his elbow with one hand while gripping his wrist with the other. I then glide my hand up to his shoulder, pushing it back slightly before placing my palm on the bottom center of his back to help with his posture. He sucks in a quick, shaky breath and clears his throat. "There you go. Keep your arm long and straight, same with your back. Feet spaced—"

I'm stopped abruptly as he covers the top of my hand with his own and begins rubbing it with his thumb.

"You're trembling." I glance up at him with wide eyes as a shiver courses through me causing my entire body to visibly shudder. He shakes his head, looking at me in a concerned, reprimanding way and I quickly avert my eyes. "Why in the world aren't you wearing a jacket, Katniss?"

I quickly retrieve my hand from his, which is trembling even more now, and cross my arms with a shrug.

"I woke up late this morning and was in such a hurry that I forgot it. I _would_ wear a work jacket but they rarely get washed and they're kind of disgusting," I explain in a rush. "I was fine until the sun started going down. I'll be okay, though. I go home after our lesson, so—"

He places the bow and arrow down on the ground, then promptly begins taking his jacket off. Oh no. I know exactly what he's about to do. My heart feels as if it might break my ribs from beating so hard.

"No, it's _not_ okay. Here, take mine…." he says, and from the tone of his voice I can already tell he's not going to take no for an answer. He holds it out for me to slip my arms into.

I shake my head and step back instead, looking around for some sort of distraction or a way to change his mind.

"You don't have to. Really, Peeta, I'm—"

"I _want_ to. I insist. Besides, I'm actually pretty hot right now."

I bite my lip, feeling warm all over despite the cold. Yes, indeed, he is 'pretty hot' right now. He's always hot. And sweet. And thoughtful. He just needs to stop it already. A guy offering a girl his jacket is the epitome of all dumb romance movies, and it never fails to be the nail in the coffin when it comes to the girl falling for him. I have enough on my mind; I definitely don't need to add 'falling for a gay guy' to it.

"I don't want you to get cold or sick because of me. Besides, it wouldn't be very professional," I reason half-heartedly. He still remains holding the jacket out for me, unwavering in his offer—or rather his demand. "Isn't that your wrestling jacket anyway? Aren't those pretty expensive? I don't want to ruin it or anything."

Oh man, now I'm imagining him in his skin tight wrestling outfit. What the _hell _is wrong with me? I am _not_ falling for Peeta! It's just that damn dream picking at my brain, making me see him in a different light today. Sexy dream Peeta is not _real_ Peeta.

"Katniss, it's _just_ a jacket. I got it for free, and trust me I'll be fine without it. My body's like a furnace and I haven't been sick in years. Even if by the off chance I _do_ get sick, it'll be plenty worth it. I'm not going to stand here and let you freeze to death."

"That's a bit dramatic. I'm not going to freeze to death," I mumble.

"Please?" He raises his eyebrows and pouts his bottom lip. Dammit, why does he have to be so adorable? He's making it awfully hard to resist. I sigh heavily and roll my eyes as I hold my hands up in defeat.

"Fine, but only for a few minutes. Just to warm up," I reply, stepping forward. "Thank you, Mr. Chivalrous."

"You're very welcome, Miss Stubborn," he answers with a chuckle in his tone. I turn around as he places the jacket over my shoulders and I slip my arms into the sleeves. My eyes flutter shut and a small involuntary moan escapes me as I melt into the intoxicating warmth of his jacket. He wasn't lying when he said his body was like a furnace, and evidently I'd been much colder than I thought.

"It's huge," I state, flapping my hands around in sleeves that go at least four inches past them.

"Better too big than too small, right? We'll make it fit." He places his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him.

He smiles at me as he lifts one of my arms and begins to roll the sleeve up. I look past his shoulder, avoiding his eyes as I try to keep my breathing normal. After he rolls both sleeves, he leans down and slowly zips the jacket up. I suck in a startled breath as his knuckles brush lightly against the edge of my breast. He didn't mean to, of course; it was totally innocent, but I can't help how my body reacts. And embarrassingly, it's reacting mostly by soaking my underwear.

"I feel like a little girl playing dress up," I comment just to break the silence. He's standing so close it feels as if he could read my thoughts if he wanted to, which I definitely don't want him to do at the moment.

His fingertips brush my neck as he lifts my braid from beneath the jacket collar, causing a ticklish tremor to shoot down my spine. I don't know if my face can get any redder than it already was, but it feels 10x times hotter.

"I don't think you look anything like a little girl playing dress up, but you're just as adorable," he states softly, running his fingers down my braid. I'm so confused. Did he just call me _adorable_? I don't think I've ever heard that word used to describe me in my entire life. And why is he touching my hair like that? Why is he gazing at me in such a wistful way? It's doing weird things to my stomach. Finally, he steps back with a triumphant smirk and rests his hands on his hips as he looks me over. "There you go. Snug as a bug. Wanna give me a twirl?"

I arch an eyebrow at him and shake my head. He's getting far too brave. I can't help wondering if it's simply the darkness and the fact that we're alone that's bringing this side out of him, or if he's always been like this and I'm just now seeing it.

"Let's just get back to the lesson, shall we?"

He nods and bends over to pick up the bow and arrow, and I can't help appreciating how perfectly his jeans hug his backside. If I'm going to Hell I might as well enjoy the view along the way.

He brings the bow up, aiming in perfect position, and I simply stand back admiring his physique and basking in the leftover body heat of his jacket. The aroma of cinnamon and sugar wafts through the air, making my stomach growl. I realize the delicious smell is coming from Peeta's jacket so I bring the collar up to my nose to tantalize myself further. Who needs cologne when you can work in a bakery?

He shoots again, and this time, to both of our surprise, it sticks to the target board only a few inches from the bullseye.

"Oh my God! I actually hit the target!" Peeta turns to me, looking as excited as a kid on Christmas morning; I almost expect him to start jumping for joy. His grin is so bright and contagious, I can't help but mirror it.

"Awesome, Peeta! You're doing really amazing. Seriously. I'll be buying that dinner in no time if you keep it up!"

With newfound enthusiasm, he wastes no time in shooting again. Once more it hits the target, landing even closer to the bullseye. Things are _really_ getting exciting now; I'm literally shaking with anticipation. I don't think I've ever felt this invested in someone learning archery before - and I've taught _a lot_ of people. Peeta's just so genuinely ecstatic that it seems to rub off.

After a few more tries, he _finally_ does it.

My mouth hangs open in shock and amazement as the arrow actually hits the bullseye.

"Did I just…" Peeta whispers in awe, his eyes wide and unblinking as if he can't believe what he'd just done.

"You _did_!" I proclaim loudly. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins so intensely I feel I could float off the ground. "Oh my God, Peeta! You actually did it!"

In a rush of mutual celebration, laughter fills the air as he wraps his arms around my waist, picks me up, and twirls me around. I feel so weightless and carefree in his embrace, which is a little strange because usually I'd be totally uncomfortable with this kind of closeness. But this feels so unexpectedly wonderful. So exhilarating. So _right_.

Then the most crazy, confusing, surreal thing happens: before my feet touch the ground again, and without any forethought whatsoever, our lips meet.

And they linger.

His lips melt into mine and move against them, and as if my lips have a mind of their own, they move gracefully against his as well. I'm so lightheaded, breathless, and bewildered, I don't know what to think of any of this – I don't _want_ to think. For only a brief moment, I just want to feel.

All too soon, however, our mouths separate as my feet touch the ground, and all at once the gravity of the situation hits me full force. I avert my eyes before I can even look at Peeta's face; in fact, I'm purposefully avoiding it. I'm sure he's utterly disgusted by the whole thing, taken aback in the worst possible way that I'd even do such a thing. Maybe I imagined that he kissed me back, and even if he_ did_ he was probably just being polite. I mean, what was he supposed to do? Push me away and voice his disgust? He'd never do that. No, he'd play along in order to not make me feel bad.

What the hell have I done? How can I even look at him after this? As wonderful as I felt a moment ago, I now feel equally as horrible.

"Oh God, I'm _so sorry _Peeta!" I blurt, covering my face with my hands. "I wasn't thinking – I was just really excited. But I _really_ shouldn't have done that and—"

I'm stopped short as he places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a small squeeze of reassurance.

"Katniss, in case you couldn't tell, it was completely mutual," he states, his voice light and seemingly amused. Well, at least he doesn't sound horrified. That's a good sign. I peek through my fingers to find him grinning the same way he did when he hit the bullseye. He gently removes my hand from my face and adds brightly, "I thought it was nice. You have really soft lips, and you're a great kisser."

Again, I'm thoroughly confused. The way he's looking at me and by the way he talks, it seems he really enjoyed our kiss. But it doesn't make any sense. If he's gay why would he like a girl kissing him? Unless maybe he's bi. That _could _very well be a possibility. After all, I really don't think I imagined the sensuality in his kiss. It definitely didn't seem fake on his behalf, and if it _was_ then he's a very good actor.

I still don't know what to think, though. Just because he kissed me or even enjoyed the kiss, it doesn't mean he likes me in a romantic way. No matter if a part of me can admit to kind of wanting him to.

"Um, okay…." I mumble, finding it hard to string a coherent thought together let alone a sentence. "Thank you?"

Ugh, did I just _thank_ him? I'm such an idiot. I should just stitch my mouth shut so I can't say any more stupid things. Eloquence is not one of my strengths at the best of times, but this takes the cake on being totally inarticulate.

It's also not helping things at all that I can still feel the warmth of his lips and vividly remember how supple and soft they were. I lick my bottom lip and it tastes sweet, like sugar and fruit—strawberries to be exact. He must have had a bakery pastry before coming to practice. It really doesn't surprise me that his kisses are sweet. _Everything_ about him is sweet—his smell, his mouth, his face, his laugh, his personality… he might as well be made of sugar.

"No, thank _you_," he replies earnestly, giving me a wink. I look quickly at the ground, mentally reprimanding myself to not read too much into all this. "I told you I'd been practicing! So, um, how about that dinner?"

And with that, I'm reminded what this was all for. It had nothing at all to do with me. Peeta likes someone _else_. That's why he's been trying so hard, why he's so excited that he made the shot. He now has a free date paid for by me. I offered it, of course, and_ I_ kissed _him_, but still… I can't help feeling a bit… _used_. And strangely disappointed.

Just like the dream, none of this meant anything.

"Oh! Right. I owe you a dinner," I reply quickly, trying my best to keep my voice even and appear casual about everything. "I guess just ask the person to go with you and get back to me when it's all set up. Try to keep it under $100, though? I'm not trying to be cheap, but I'm not rich either."

He nods, looking thoughtful and hesitant, as if working up the nerve to say something yet unsure whether or not he should. Finally, he blurts, "Will you go with me?"

* * *

**AN**:More to come very soon! I have most of the next chapter already written. Huge thanks to Caryn (papofglencoe on tumblr) for prereading this for me! I seriously appreciate the help. :) I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading; I'd love to hear what you think of the story. You can also find me on tumblr at **dandelion-sunset**.


	9. The Reveal

_**Chapter Nine**_

**The Reveal**

I stare at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded. From the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, it's totally possible that I heard him incorrectly.

"Me?" I narrow my eyes and point a thumb at my chest. He nods, but it only makes me more confused. "Why do you want me to go with you? I thought I was paying for a date."

"Don't worry about paying," he replies quickly, his voice a bit strained as he runs a hand through his hair. "I'd, uh, I'd rather you just come with me instead."

I avert my gaze to the ground and shove my hands in the pockets of his jacket. "For, like, moral support or something?"

"Or something. Yeah, I guess."

My heart leaps to my throat. It's just as I figured. He's not asking me out. Why would he ask me out? I'm stupid for even considering it. He only wants me to tag along as a confidence booster. I don't know what I expected. It's not as if one little kiss was going to convert him – and I wouldn't want that anyway. I want him to be happy with who he is, as well as who he likes. It doesn't matter how I feel.

I clear my throat and ask as evenly as possible, "But don't you think it might be a little weird for the person you're going to ask? I don't want to make things awkward."

"I'm asking you, Katniss." My eyes shoot up to his, searching for any sign that he's joking. By the shy, hesitant half-smile he gives and the earnest way he's looking at me, I immediately know that he's not. My mind and body seem paralyzed as he continues, "Maybe it's the adrenaline of hitting a bullseye or finally kissing you that's making me feel so bold right now, but…" he shrugs, finishing in a blurted rush, "I like you. A lot. I have for a while. And I'd love to go on a date with you."

All the blood drains from my face. I don't know what to think; I'm utterly speechless. Is it possible that I've read him wrong this entire time? Or is it only due to the fact that we just kissed that he now feels obligated to ask me out? I mean, kissing someone and then having them pay for your date with someone else does seem like a douche move and Peeta's anything but a douche. Yeah, that's probably it. He's just trying to do what he believes is the 'right thing'.

I release a long, shaky breath as I try to find my voice again.

"Look, just because we kissed that doesn't mean you have to…" I trail off as he gives a quick shake of his head.

"Trust me, that kiss has nothing to do with it. Well, I mean, it has a little bit to do with it—it was pretty amazing—but honestly? I only signed up for these lessons to get to know you better, to have a little glimpse of your world. And I'd really like to see more of it."

My eyes widen as I try to process what he'd just said. It sounded genuine, but then he could just be as good an actor as he is at everything else. Why in the world would he be interested in me? Of all people, why _me_? I don't understand it. And anyways, didn't he say he was taking lessons for a hunting trip this summer? That was pretty convincing; if he could so easily lie about that, why not this, too?

All of a sudden, I feel as if I've been slapped by reality. All the blood drains from my face and my hands begin to tremble. Maybe this has been a setup all along—this, the secret admirer crap… I wouldn't doubt more than one person is in on it. They probably put Peeta up to doing it because he's an unlikely suspect. That makes a hell of a lot more sense than him liking me. I bet the plan was to get me to fall for him and/or the secret admirer bullshit so they can all have a big group laugh at how gullible I am.

Peeta's still looking at me, biting his lip as if he's nervous of how I might react. Good, he _should_ be! I hope he has a guilty conscience about what he's doing. Tears sting my eyes, but I won't cry. I won't give him—or _them_—the satisfaction. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again and looks away with a frown.

I bury my face in my hands and shake my head.

"Oh God, I should've seen this coming!" I quickly lower my hands and cross my arms over my chest, giving him a fiery glare. "This is all a joke to you, right? What, did you take a bet with your wrestling buddies in the locker room? Well, let me tell you, it's not funny at all! It's just pitiful and mean. I really thought you'd be above something like this—"

"No! I'd never do _anything _like that! _Ever_," he asserts strongly, interrupting my rant. I feel the flame inside me being snuffed into an ember as I bring my eyes to his. He looks hurt and confused, and also a little miffed that I'd accuse him of doing such a thing. Great, now _I_ feel guilty. I purse my lips and look at the ground as he continues, "I promiseno one knows about this besides you and me, and that I'm being completely real with you here. Look, I just thought I'd ask. It was worth a shot. But if you don't want to go, it's fine. Just please don't think I'd ever treat you like that? I don't play games with people, Katniss."

By the heartfelt, dejected way he says all this, I can tell that he's speaking the truth. Besides, Peeta doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Even as I was accusing him, I knew it made even less sense than him liking me. Whatever's going on here, it's coming solely from him.

I give a heavy sigh and press my palms into my eyelids. Maybe if I do it hard enough, I'll wake up. There's no way this is actually happening.

"See, the words coming out of your mouth _sound_ real, but none of this _feels_ real," I mumble in reply. "I just can't understand why someone like _you_ would ever be interested in someone like _me_. It doesn't make any sense."

"Why doesn't it make sense?" he asks softly, bringing his hands to mine and removing them from my eyes. He holds onto them as I glance up to see him searching my face with a wistful curiosity, "Tell me, how are we so different?"

"Seriously?" I furrow an eyebrow. "It'd take me all night to list the ways."

"Okay. Well, regardless of what perceived differences you _think_ we have, I still really like you. It's cool if you don't feel the same, but I just wanted you to know." He releases my hands and takes a step back, avoiding my eyes. "Anyways, I'm sorry for making things weird between us. If you want me to take my last lesson with someone else, I will. It's no problem. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable on the job."

Although he's doing his best to appear strong and indifferent about it all, he looks and sounds completely rejected. I'm _not_ rejecting him, though! That's not _at all_ what I'm trying to do! I'm trying to understand what's going on here, how I could've been so completely oblivious, how someone as sweet and hot as Peeta Mellark could actually be asking me out on a date, let alone confessing to having liked me for a while.

All those times he was nervous around me, the times he sat by me in class, all the times I thought he might be flirting but quickly dismissed it as friendly banter… all of it takes on a whole different light. I'm not talking only recently either, but _years_ worth of instances. It's a lot to take in. I'm mortified at my own obliviousness and terrified by thoughts of what this may lead to. But a part of me is also curious. Images of the dream I had flash through my mind, and I can't help but wonder if something like that could ever be real between us. It's one thing to entertain the idea when I thought he was gay; it was easy to disregard as fantasy, no matter how vivid it was. But _now_? Now it's an overwhelming possibility.

"Don't be silly, Peeta," I finally reply. My voice comes out all shaky and weird, but I try to ignore it as I continue, "I never said I didn't feel the same. Honestly, I don't know _what_ I feel. I'm a little bit shocked. I mean, a few minutes ago I didn't think you were even into girls, let alone me."

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I know it's no use backpedalling—not that I'd really know how—because from the slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression on Peeta's face, he's already caught on to the meaning of what I'd said.

"Wait… _what_?" he sputters, holding up a hand as if to pause me from changing the subject – which I really, _really_ want to do right now. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm a total idiot." I hold my hands up at my sides and shrug. "Somehow I got it into my head that since you're so perfect, there's no way you could be single unless you were—"

"Well, I'm definitely _not_. I'm 100% into women. And as for me being single? That's because I don't just date for the fun of it. I'd only ask someone out if I was really into them. Also, I'm nowhere near _perfect,_" he states fervidly before I can finish my sentence. He looks to be as mortified as I feel. Great, not only have I made him feel rejected, I've also possibly insulted him with my verbal diarrhea. Whatever he felt for me before, I'm sure he probably doesn't now.

"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have told you any of that." I wince, shaking my head from embarrassment and shame. If there was ever a perfect moment for the earth to suddenly crack open and swallow me whole, it'd be now. Peeta's frowning, but other than that his face is unreadable. I shrug again and fidget with the end of my braid, unable to look him in the eyes. "I don't even know why I came to that conclusion. I just make really dumb assumptions. Obviously."

"Well, I guess it explains a lot," he gives a heavy sigh, "but you know the old saying about assuming?"

"No…?"

"When you assume it makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'." I quickly glance up at him, and he cracks a small smile that says 'You're a huge idiot, but I forgive you.' I honestly don't think I deserve to be excused so easily. I never should have assumed his sexuality, whatever it is, let alone tell him about it and make him wonder why I thought it in the first place. I feel horrible about everything, and ironically, his niceness about the situation only makes me feel worse.

I avert my eyes and shake my head. "Well, that saying is wrong. You're in no way an ass, Peeta. I'm an ass for both of us. I'm a double ass. I'm an actual donkey's butt right now—" My breath catches in my chest as he places his fingers lightly beneath my chin, tilting my face upward to look at him again. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head in a gentle, reprimanding way.

"Well, you certainly don't _look_ like one," he states, a lighthearted smirk taking over his features. Well, I'm glad he's finding the humor in the situation. I still feel like a complete ass, though.

With a slight wince, I give him a pleading look as I ask, "So, um… can we just sort of forget everything I just said and never bring it up again?"

"_Please_. Consider it forgotten," he replies with a short laugh and a wave of his hand. He shrugs and adds in a lighter, more questioning tone, "Just so you know, I'd still like to take you to dinner."

I can't believe it. Even after I made a complete fool of myself, he's still interested. This whole thing is absurd. I mean, doesn't he know that he's way out of my league? I feel like a lowly peasant who caught the eye of a king.

"You could easily get any other girl you wanted if you asked," I tell him, just in case he's not aware of this fact. Maybe he'll come to his senses before I give him an answer.

"But I don't want any other girl," he replies. "I'm asking _you_."

"Why me, though?"

"It'd take me all night to list the reasons," he shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at me in a thoughtful, almost timid way. "For starters, there's… a sort of radiance about you that always catches my eye. You're smart, talented, and you make me laugh. You just… you have an effect on me that I've never experienced with anyone else."

I blink a few times, my heart pounding fast and hard against my ribs. To say I'm startled would be an understatement. I had no idea anyone could feel these things for me, let alone that I'd ever hear someone actually say them to my face. The fact that such sweet words came from the mouth off Peeta Mellark has my mind and emotions in a whirlwind. How could he feel this way about me? What if I go out with him and he realizes he's completely wrong? That I'm not half as special as he believes me to be? What if I screw everything up? I'm bound to, given time.

Then again, I know I'll regret it if I don't take a chance. I'll always wonder 'what if?' and think of Peeta as the one who got away. I don't want to see him in a store years later, with his perfect job, wife, and family, and pretend to be happy about it in public, but cry over a gallon of chocolate ice cream and a fifth of Vodka later than night.

Whatever happens, wherever this will eventually lead, I'll just have to find out. Besides, we're only talking one dinner, right? It's not as if he's asked me to be his girlfriend or anything. It's just a simple date with a great guy.

I take a deep breath before giving a small smile and asking, "So about this dinner we're going to, do I have to dress up or anything?"

Peeta's face instantly brightens and his eyes flash with excitement. He seems genuinely surprised that I've agreed to go with him, which I find a little bit funny. It's not as if I was ever going to tell him 'no'.

"Only if you want, but you really don't have to. I think you're perfect as you are. I'll just be happy enough with you there," he answers quickly, grinning ear to ear—which, I notice, are both completely red. I imagine mine are too; my face feels like it's on fire.

"Are _you_ going to dress up?"

"A bit. Probably. Not too much. But honestly, you don't have to—"

"I'm not going to hang on your side looking like a hobo, Peeta," I say, cutting him off with a nervous laugh. "Where are you planning on taking us anyway?"

"It's a surprise," he winks. "Maybe I can pick you up on Friday night? Are you free then?"

"Tomorrow?" My eyes widen for a moment at how sudden it seems. However, seeing how my Friday night would otherwise be spent eating junk food while binge-watching crap on Netflix, I decide I might as well go. "Um. Yeah, that's fine."

"Does 7:30 sound good to you?"

"Sure," I nod, trying my best to seem casual. I feel like I might shake out of my skin at any second, though. I still can't believe this is happening. For the sake of clarity, I ask a bit hesitantly, "Just so we're on the same page here, you _are_ asking me on a date, right?"

He gives me the most animated, charming smile as he nods that it causes my stomach to do very enthusiastic somersaults.

"Okay then," I reply lamely just as the stadium lights go out, covering us in complete darkness. I groan and roll my eyes. Evidently I lost track of time, and this is my boss's passive-aggressive way of letting me know it's after closing. He could've at least given us a warning over the intercom. "Ugh, that'd be my asshole of a boss. I guess our lesson is over now."

"What about the arrows I shot? Shouldn't we go get them?" Peeta asks as I turn to walk towards the building.

"Nah. It's too dark. If he wants to be a dick, he can get them himself," I say as he catches up to me. I stop abruptly, however, when I realize I'm still wearing something that belongs to him. "Oh, let me give you your jacket back—" I begin to unzip it, but he places a hand over mine and shakes his head.

"You can keep it. I have others," he states.

"I don't really have use for a jacket that's over twice my size, Peeta—"

"At least wear it till you get home," he insists, moving his hand to my shoulder. "And for what it's worth, I think you look really cute in it."

A snort of laughter escapes me. There's no way in hell I look 'cute' in his jacket, though I have to admit, him saying so makes me feel warm all over.

"No offense, but I'm seriously questioning your eyesight—"

My sentence is cut short as he brings his hand to the side of my neck and his head dips down towards mine. I only have a split-second to realize '_holy shit, he's going to kiss me again'_ before he does exactly that. His lips are soft and warm as they move against mine. For a heartbeat of a moment I'm too stunned by what's happening to do anything but simply stand there, frozen like an idiot; but when I feel his other hand slide up the back of my neck and bury itself into the hair at my nape, I bring my hands up, curving them upon his chest, and finally kiss him in return.

It's slow and deliberate, and _a lot_ different than the one we shared earlier. That one was a spur of the moment surprise kiss—this one is more like a taste of what's to come; it just seems more intimate. It also lasts a lot longer too, which is more than okay. The darkness surrounding us helps in melting any trepidation I might have. In fact, I wouldn't care if we continued this way all night.

_I can't believe this happening._

I feel like I'm in a dream, except if I were dreaming we'd already be in bed by now. No, this is definitely real. And way better than any dream. I'm surprised by how natural it feels to be like this with someone, let alone that 'someone' being Peeta Mellark, of all people. Never in a million years would I have predicted this to happen.

I keep my eyes closed in post-kiss bliss when we part. His hands are still on my neck, his fingertips grazing lightly against my skin as he rests his forehead onto mine. The sweetness of his kiss lingers pleasantly on my tongue, and I feel warm, wet, and tingly below. I'd probably be embarrassed about it if I wasn't so overwhelmed by every other sensation I'm feeling at the moment. He's so close I can still feel his breath upon my lips, and I have to fight the urge to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again.

Okay, so maybe now I can sort of understand now why people are so fond of all this romance crap….

"Mmm," he moans softly, his voice a bit hoarse. "That was incredible. Whatever differences you think we have, I think it's safe to say we're both _very_ compatible when it comes to kissing."

"Mmhmm," I agree, too breathless to form any real words.

The moment is interrupted as Mr. Snow's irritated, booming voice sounds over the intercom, "Everdeen, you can kiss your boyfriend on your own time! I've clocked you out and I'm locking the doors in five minutes!"

My eyes shoot open, and we jump apart as if lightning had struck the earth between us.

I could _kill _him! I've never liked my boss, but right now I'm actually fighting the urge to shoot him in the heart with an arrow. Just because Peeta and I kissed, just because we're going on a date tomorrow, it doesn't in any way mean that he's my _boyfriend_. He just added a whole new level of awkward to the situation, at least on my account.

Peeta doesn't seem put off by it, though. In fact, he has a big, elated grin on his face as he begins to laugh. At the sound of it, my hatred for Mr. Snow is temporarily forgotten as I find myself laughing along with him. I don't know exactly why we're laughing; it's like those giggle fits you'd get in elementary school at 3 a.m. while having a sleepover. There's not really a reason for it, but it's cathartic and satisfying. I'm lightheaded and trembling with a giddy, terrifying excitement I can't remember feeling in years—in fact, I don't remember ever feeling like this before in my life. It's something new entirely.

It only lasts a moment before we continue our way to the building. Halfway there, Peeta reaches over and slips his hand into mine. I can feel that he's just as nervous as I am by the way he's slightly shaking. Then again, it could also be that he's cold because I'm wearing his jacket. Still, I'm surprised and little confused as to why he's holding my hand.

"We're almost there and it's not that dark out here," I point out as he slips his fingers between mine. "I can still see where we're going."

"I know."

"Then why are you holding my hand?"

"Because I want to," he answers, giving my hand a slight squeeze.

All I can manage is a quiet 'Oh', as our hands remain entwined.

He releases me as soon as we enter the building, however, and I can't help feeling a little disappointed at the loss. I wave at Mr. Snow, who simply glares and grumbles about something, before walking out the front door.

Peeta tells me 'he'll see me tomorrow,' to which I simply nod, before turning towards his car. Before opening his door he asks if I need a ride home, but I shake my head. Uncle Haymitch is already waiting on me at the far end of the parking lot. Gale said he couldn't pick me up tonight since he had plans with Madge, so Uncle Haymitch had to sober up for a few hours to come get me. I'm sure I'll be met with his surly side, especially given the recent truck hijacking, so I'm in no hurry to make my way to him. Given the night's events, I'm relieved he's picking me up, though, and not Gale. Gale would know something's up as soon as he saw my face.

As Peeta starts up his car and waves, I finally, reluctantly decide to make my way to the truck.

The ride home with Uncle Haymitch goes as predicted; he gives me crap for the truck ordeal, lectures me on being a 'responsible' adult, and is generally just in a pissy mood as he finds random junk to bitch at me about. I block most of it out, though. My mind is elsewhere, replaying the events of the night and wondering how on earth I'm going to prepare for a date tomorrow. I haven't gone on a date in ages, let alone one that I actually care about. I won't be able to do it alone and there's no way I can keep it a secret, so dread fills me at the realization that I'm going to have to tell Prim. And to make matters worse, I'm sure she's going to gloat about how 'she told me so'. Ugh.

As the truck enters our driveway, it's only then that Uncle Haymitch notices how quiet I've been and asks me why that is. I simply shrug and tell him that I'm tired and it's been a long day. He seems to accept my excuse, or is too tired and sober to pry. Either way, he doesn't say anything else about it.

When I finally reach the privacy of my bedroom, I find myself grateful that Prim isn't there yet. She must be over at the Hawthorne's. I fling myself onto my bed and grin stupidly as I stare up at the ceiling in a bewildered daze. After a minute or so, I turn my head and my eyes land on my laptop.

_Oh God._

In all the excitement and confusion of tonight, I'd almost forgotten about the secret admirer thing.

What if the person wrote me back? How do I let them down gently and inform them that they're wasting their time because I'm interested in somebody else? Because, honestly, no matter who it is on the other end of those messages, they just can't compete.

Another thought then occurs to me, and it's absolutely absurd, but also a very strong possibility: _what if Peeta, himself, is my secret admirer? _It'd make sense. I mean, the cookies _did _come from his bakery and he _does_ have a way with words.

I reach for my laptop, open the lid and type in my password, all the while trying to keep my expectations low-to-nonexistent.

However, when I see that I have an email from the same address as my secret admirer, and notice the subject line reads: 'Hi, it's me. Peeta.' I nearly have a heart attack right then and there.

Holding my breath, my eyes widen in disbelief and my hands tremble like crazy as I click on the message and read:

_Katniss,_

_So we just got done with our archery lesson and I'm writing this in my car before I lose my nerve. Honestly, I'm still reeling from everything that happened tonight—the bullseye, kissing you, asking you out, but most of all I'm stunned that you answered yes. All that being said, I feel the need to be entirely honest with you. By now, I'm sure you've probably noticed my email address and connected the dots: I'm your secret admirer. I meant for it to be a romantic gesture, a lighthearted Valentine's mystery, something to make you feel good about yourself. It was also as a way to work up my courage to confess how I've felt about you. But it didn't go as planned. I don't like the idea of you thinking someone might be pranking you or being spiteful. That was never my intention. I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable or paranoid. When you came into the bakery the other night, I wanted to tell you everything right then and there, but I was nervous of how you'd react. Plus, we had an audience of bakery customers and my obnoxious brother, and I didn't want to put you on the spot._

_I don't want you to hate me for this, Katniss. I had only good intentions, but I think I may have revealed them in the wrong way. You're right; none of the things I said mattered because you had no idea who it was coming from. Well, now you know. It was all from me. And I meant every word. I've enjoyed every second I've been with you, and I hope you'll give me the opportunity to show you just how wonderful I think you are. However, I also totally understand if you want to cancel dinner tomorrow night if all of this is too much. I just felt this needed to be said before things go any further. I respect you, and I'll respect any decision you make._

_-Peeta Mellark_

I reread the email another three times in complete shock. It was him. All along, _it was him_. All those things he said to me, all those beautiful, extremely intimate things… and he meant every word. I don't know what to think. He said he 'liked me for a while' tonight, but I had no idea how deeply that 'like' was felt by him. Now that all those messages have a name and face to go with them, that they're not a practical joke or the words of some weird stranger, they take on a whole different meaning. In fact, I want to go back and read them all again.

How do I feel about this? I'm not entirely sure. It's a mixture of things—elation, fear, excitement, anxiety, the list goes on. But most of all, the strongest feeling I have is _relief_.

Before I can sidetrack my brain with deciphering the other messages he wrote me, I write a quick reply of:

_Peeta,_

_I'm not sure what to say. I'm kind of in shock. I had no idea you felt these things about me – seriously, not a clue. I definitely don't hate you. I'm just really, really, really surprised. This kind of thing never happens to me, so I guess that's why I expected the worst. I honestly thought it was a joke (though your notes were really sweet), or that it'd wind up being someone I didn't feel the same about and it'd be super awkward._

_But… I'm relieved. I'm glad it's you. I'm glad you told me. I know it must have taken a lot of guts. I've enjoyed spending time with you too, and of course I still want to have dinner with you tomorrow. I think we have a lot to talk about._

_-Katniss_

As soon as I press send, the bedroom doorknob turns and in walks Prim.

I'm practically bursting to tell her the news, so before she can even close the door behind her, I find myself blurting, "You were right about everything! Peeta's my secret admirer, we kissed, and we're going on a date tomorrow. And I _really_ need your help!"

* * *

**AN:** First of all, I want to give a huge thank you to Caryn (papofglencoe) for her wonderful beta work! I really appreciate your help! Secondly, I'm sorry this chapter took longer than expected to write. I had originally planned to go in a whole different direction, decided to change it after half of it was already written, which led to me having to basically rewrite and rethink everything. But I hope you like the way this turned out! As always, your feedback keeps me motivated and inspired; I love hearing from you all! So if you could please leave a comment, that'd be very nice of you and I'd greatly appreciate it. Thanks for reading! Only a couple more chapters to go (and an epilogue)! You can find me on tumblr at** dandelion-sunset**! :)


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